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An unforeseen complication. Dorian understood those far too well but it made him no less annoyed with Dorcas’ cavalier attitude. He wanted to scold her for acting like a child but he restrained himself, or perhaps it was the knock on the door behind him that forced his hand. Dorian turned and pulled the door open, coming face to face with one of the women that worked the welcome desk at the Ministry. She offered a quizzical look at Dorian as she passed him the duffel bag that belonged to Dorcas. He thanked her and shut the door again.

Crossing the room and setting the bag on the bed beside Dorcas, Dorian’s expression stiffened again. He could go to the office and do a little snooping to determine where she had been and what she’d been up to - if she was doing anything at all for the Ministry. He was extremely skeptical that if her outing had been at Albus Dumbledore’s request, he would be able to ascertain any details whatsoever. The Order had a lot of cauldrons in the fire and Dorian was smart enough to know he was privy to very little details of their goings on. Of course, he could always just wait and hope that Julian would come to pick up Tristan as he usually did after a full moon but that would be hours still, as Jules needed time to cooperate from the change without little Tristan becoming concerned or neglected. Still, he knew there was no love lost between his half brother and his colleague, and while Dorcas was unaware of Julian’s circumstances, he couldn’t trust his brother to keep his wits about him during a full moon. If the pair had crossed paths somehow... Julian was just one of many werewolves in the world so the odds of this being the case were slim. Slim but not impossible. “I’ll let you change.”

Dorian sat silently as the woman absorbed the information he had presented. Having handled more than his fair share of these sorts of meetings as of late, Dorian had come prepared. Leaning forward toward her, Dorian pulled a small pack of facial tissues from his coat pocket and offered it to the widow. She asked where her husband was now, and Dorian obliged. "Your husband is being transferred to St Mungo's in London," he answered, reaching back into his breast pocket and pulling out two business cards. He looked them over quickly to ensure he handed her the correct one first. The morgue was not the most welcoming of places to visit, but Dorian had known the coroner for several years now and had never felt uneasy about sending anyone there. They were always received as warmly as possible, considering the circumstances of every civilian's visit. "I have the contact information for you here."

The widow already looked tired and unwell, Dorian knew the news he was about to share with her would not be easy but it was best to come out with it properly. “Last night your husband was in an altercation and was killed.” Plain language, direct and to the point. That was what they had taught him in the academy. It had seemed cold to him initially, but any ambiguity in the delivery could leave confusion or misguided hope. “We believe he was held against his will in a flat outside of Manchester, and we are looking into who might have been involved, but unfortunately I do not have any information on the suspect or suspects to share with you at this time.” The Dark Mark, Lord Voldemort’s identifier, had hovered over the flat, signaling to the MLE that something had happened, though outwardly the building was unassuming. Not every murder or disappearance that was attributed to the Death Eaters was accompanied by Lord Voldemort’s morbid calling card, and Dorian was certain the fact that this man’s relationship to the former Black heir had something to do with why his death was singled out for such fanfare.

The bottle was perfectly chilled and felt especially cool against Dorian’s hand which had previously been balled up inside his pants pocket as he struggled to come up with a way out of this conversation. Killian seemed like a perfectly fine lad, but Dorian was feeling old now and thinking about the last time he had felt truly comfortable in a social setting such as this seemed to age him even further. Mercifully, Killian made an excuse to leave and Dorian nodded his appreciation for the beer silently as the boy departed, turning instead to Freya and her fiancé Gabe who had found themselves at the bar.

Waiting for a lull in the conversation so that he was not interrupting the couple proved to be the best bit of luck Dorian could have hoped for. Leo barged into the room, full of dramatic flair (even for Leo, which was saying a lot), and summoned Dorian to the barbecue. ‘Business’. A wink. Leo was up to something and it did not take Dorian’s years of experience as an Auror to see that. Leo would explain in his own time and if not, Dorian would pester him until he found out what he was up to. “Sure thing,” he replied, giving Leo a little salute as he took his beer and himself out to the poolside where he could finally find a little peace in having a purpose he could throw himself into.

If it were possible, there were even more people outside than in. It made sense, obviously, but it meant he had a lot of cooking to keep up with if he was going to keep all these mouths full of food and not of conversations in his direction. Jasper was getting a drink at the end of the foods table, and Dorian clapped his shoulder in a friendly greeting as he rounded the table. “Hey, mate. I didn’t know you were here already. I might have not hidden in the house as long as I had, had I known.” He probably would have, but Jasper was a good enough friend that Dorian felt more comfortable at this party with him here. Dorian turned his attention next to the witch Jasper had just been greeting. “Dorian Humbert,” he said politely, shifting his beer bottle to his left hand and offering his right to the younger woman. She looked familiar but Dorian didn’t know her and assumed she was just a familiar face from hospital; between his work bringing him there and some of his friends being healers, Dorian recognized several mystery faces without having any names to match.

“No, thank you.” Dorian took a moment, then offered, “I think you should sit, Mrs Tonks.” He gestured to the chair across from him and waited.

“Not too hurt to be causing a commotion, I see.” Dorian had only been a few doors away from his intended destination when a toweled Dorcas emerged from her hospital room and began demanding clothes. He closed the distance between them, evaluating her. Her arm looked mangled and the sight of it set Dorian’s jaw tense. He recognized the scars easily enough, they were unmistakable. “I’ll ring Rodolphus and have him bring you something when he comes.” Dorian knew from previous experiences at hospital with Dorcas that she was unlikely to put on the hospital dressing gown.