The Start of Healing || Dorian ||

It had started Friday night with whining and sniffles. Ariel climbed into her uncle’s lap as he read her a story before bed and when she buried her head into his chest, he could feel the fever through his shirt. Initially he suspected the whining was due to her having not slept long during her earlier nap, getting distracted by her uncle Julian and cousin Tristan who had come to see their new home but by the evening it was evident Ariel was ill. She insisted on sleeping with Dorian that night, meaning Dorian hardly got any sleep at all between the crying, the coughing, and the little limbs that seemed to elongate as the night wore on. Saturday hadn’t been any better. Completely knackered and refusing to eat while she insisted on running amok among the unpacked boxes and furniture. By late Saturday, Ariel was sneezing violently and with every fit came a strange result; Ariel’s beautiful blonde curls would go straight as an arrow. After a few moments her hair would show a little wave and a few minutes later her little ringlets would return, but the more she sneezed the longer her hair would stay straight. It was the strangest sight and gave Dorian all manner of emotions that he couldn’t quite explain to anyone else without sounding like a nutter.

They were waiting for only a few minutes in the little room, after a much longer wait out in the waiting room where all the other sick children and teenagers sat until they were called in. Ariel was sat looking at a picture book, poking the cartoon-like ducks in the illustrated pond and making them quack. She laughed and continued poking as the healer knocked on the door and then let herself in. The witch introduced herself and Dorian extended his hand to shake hers in greeting. “Agent Humbert,” he said reflexively, then catching himself he corrected, “Dorian. Sorry. It's been a long day.” He desperately needed a nap and a few days rest from work. He would have neither anytime soon. Turning to look at Ariel, her curls on full display at the moment as she stared up at the healer. “Some sort of cold virus, she’s had a fever and a cough, watery eyes. It all seemed relatively common until last night when she began sneezing.” Ariel sniffled and rubbed her nose on the back of her hand then reached out for her uncle to pick her up. Dorian did so and turned her to face the healer as she snuggled her back into his chest. “Her hair goes straight when she sneezes. I’ve never seen anything like it.” It was perplexing, yes, but more so for Dorian it was worrisome. River would have adored her daughter’s curls, they were perfect and looked just like River’s own hair had. Ariel was the spitting image of her mum and losing her curls even for a few minutes at a time made Dorian feel queasy.

The healer listened as Dorian explained his concerns and as he said them aloud he knew they would sound mild to the professional who was used to dealing with much more severe cases than a little girl with a cold. Still, it was concerning for Dorian and it was the first time in her life Ariel had fallen ill with any magical symptoms, so she was understandably concerned. At least, Dorian felt it was understandable. He did have a nasty habit of thinking the worst in most scenarios, a lovely side effect of his training and the personal sorrows he’d experienced over the years. The first time Ariel had scratched her face as an infant he scoured his reference books for any mention of diseases from infection in scrapes on the face. When she began walking and fell over, knocking into a nearby table and leaving a nasty egg on the back of her, he was certain she would be forever disfigured. He couldn’t remember ever being so neurotic in the past, even after his parents’ murders or losing Paris. It wasn’t even losing River and Bert that had triggered it. It was being wholly responsible for this innocent creature in a way he had never been responsible for anyone else. Paris’ death was his fault in that he did not get to her in time to save her. His parents’ deaths were his fault in that their kidnapping and torture had been a direct response to his work as an Auror. River and Bert might have been spared had he insisted more adamantly that they not attend the carnival that summer. But all of them had been adults, making choices for themselves and more than capable of sustaining a life without him. Ariel on the other hand, as she curled herself up on Dorian’s lap, giving a little whine as her nose began to run again, needed him completely and he was terrified of that responsibility.

The healer was only absent from the room for a short moment before she returned and began her check up. Dorian tried to keep Ariel as still as possible, comforting her until the birds appeared overhead and distracted her thoroughly. “That’s a clever trick,” he stated aloud, imagining how useful it would have been in the past to distract her like this and making a mental note to remember it the next time he needed to keep her occupied for a short period. Dorian watched the woman work, his eyes shifting between Ariel as she began to fuss and the cool, collected witch who managed to get everything accomplished without completely upsetting the toddler. It was quite impressive. “You must see a lot of this in young children?” he asked, wanting reassurance that his worries were for nothing. “Her mum would have loved her curls, and I don’t want to risk her losing them.” It sounded even more foolish aloud than it had in his head. River would have wanted her daughter healthy more than her spitting image but Dorian knew Ariel would overcome the cold. It was the magic that worried him.

Ariel was nearly crying now, her fussing having intensified even though the healer had finished examining her and was busy writing in her chart. Dorian stood and turned the toddler in toward his chest, swaying from side to side and giving her a soft bounce as he rubbed her back and listened to what Healer Fenwick had to say. Upon news that it was nothing more than a common cold, the inevitable feeling of foolishness began to niggle at him. He could have purchased Pepper Up Potion at the local apothecary and he even guessed that Andre would have nice recipe for something similar, though perhaps not one for children quite as young as Ariel. Despite feeling as though he had perhaps overreacted a little, Dorian was adamant that he had done the right thing in having his niece looked over by a professional. He would always be a bit more vigilant than was necessary, but when raising an orphan it was important to make sure you did your absolute best to make sure the child knew they were safe and loved. Even if Ariel was too young to discuss such concepts, he was certain she felt them.

“Thank you, Ms Fenwick.” There was clear relief in his voice as she explained the concerns with his niece’s hair was not due to her illness but to her magic. That was a shocking little bonus he honestly hadn’t been expecting. He tilted his head down, chin nearly touching his chest as he tried to catch Ariel’s gaze and she whined and rubbed her snotty face into his shirt. “You’re such a brilliant little girl, you’re already doing magic,” he said excitedly. “Perhaps you’ll be a prefect one day like your Uncle Dorian, eh? Smart little girl.” Ariel was having none of it, rubbing her eyes and looking as though she was ready for nice nap to try to sleep away the cold. Kissing the top of her head and giving her a gentle but firm squeeze, Dorian let the child snuggle into his chest as he continued to rock her back and forth.

There was still fussing when the door opened again and Healer Fenwick returned but she snuggling into her uncle’s chest quite comfortably and Dorian knew that alone would help to soothe little Ariel. She was a very affectionate child and she loved being held and hugged and given any sort of attention. She always seemed to know when people were talking about her, even if her name hadn’t been mentioned, and would make her way over and interject herself into the conversation to make sure she got just the right amount of attention. Whenever she was sad or hurt, a good snuggle always helped to soothe her but the Pepperup Potion would do its part to help her fight off the cold so she could get back to her cheery little self.

“We’re ready to start feeling better, aren’t we?” he said in response to the healer’s question, getting Ariel’s confirmation nonverbally as she rubbed her eyes and her nose with her whole fist. Dorian was certain the woman’s question had been rhetorical, most medical professionals that he’d experienced sort of went into autopilot with their bedside manners, especially once they’d made a diagnosis and decided on the route for treatment. By that point how you were feeling was basically background noise to them, he assumed, but he still liked to answer in some manner for those rare healers and matrons who actually wanted to listen. “It is going to be so silly having wind in your ears, lovey.” He was pulling out all the affectionate nicknames today, trying his best to be as comforting as possible for the little tot who was fully uncomfortable. Adjusting Ariel in his arms once more so that she faced the healer (and leaving a lovely splotch of wetness on the front of his button down that he preferred to think of as just tears but was most certainly something more disgusting) he spoke softly to his niece. “Ready for some yummy medicine?”

Still slightly unsettled about the temporary loss of curls her cold was presenting, even if it was in fact a sign of her magic, Dorian was no where near as unsettled as Ariel was. Rubbing her face, smearing wetness all around her, she fussed, little tears forming in her eyes. Thankfully, the healer did quite well with the little toddler and was able to distract the blonde with some colorful butterflies as she slipped the medicine into her mouth. Aside from the foolishness he’d felt at discovering he might have perhaps been a little overzealous about bringing Ariel to the hospital, he had learned a handful of new tricks that ought to help him out in the future should he ever need to distract Ariel for a moment or two. No doubt he would be using them soon enough.

Ariel took her medicine without much of a struggle and when the steam started spouting out of her ears, she sat up straight, as if perplexed by the sensation. She didn’t seem to mind it too much, but Dorian bounced her gently on his knee and spoke softly to her. “Does that feel silly, pumpkin?” He kissed the top of her head as he turned the toddler back toward him and stood up from his seat. Cradling Ariel against his chest, the top of her head tucked snugly under Dorian’s chiseled chin, Dorian reached for the white bag being offered to him. “Thank you, Healer Fenwick. I appreciate you taking the time to look Ariel over.” The steam was slowing now, thinning. Shuffling Ariel and the bagged medicine, Dorian freed his right hand and extended it to the woman. He was grateful that she was able to ease his mind a bit, and that she’d been so patient with Ariel even though the tot wasn’t behaving her best. She wasn’t awful by any means, but she certainly wasn’t her cheery, bubbly self.