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She looked young, at least, too young to be a widow. The war had left hundreds of women and men grieving losses they should not have felt for decades to come. It seemed no one was an exception, not even the young. “Ma’am, I have some very bad news to share with you. Would you mind if we speak inside?” Dorian did not want to share the news of her husband’s passing in plain sight of the entire neighborhood. These things were best discussed in the comfort of the survivor’s home where they could sit for the shock of what was to come. And then there were the children. Whenever a victim left behind children it was always such a struggle for their family to tell them. Some wanted it to come from the officers, others from the family. Some even chose to hide the death for as long as possible. There was no good way of going about it, but it would have been in poor taste to discuss it on the porch.

Dorian wasn’t sure where exactly he was going – Dorcas’ home was far too big and he’d not spent enough time here to know the layout. All he knew was that the sounds of the party were fading slightly, thrown off completely by the sound of Dorcas’ oafish husband coming home. Dorian did not need to stick around to hear anymore of it. He wandered until he found an empty room and, once he’d confirmed it was nothing private like a study or a private bedroom, he stepped inside.

Time seemed to have stopped and started several times, as he was pulled from his thoughts by the sounds of party goers passing in front of the room. It gave his eyes a break from staring at the letters on the envelope in his hands, unsure if he could bring himself to pull the parchment from within and reread the overwhelming information yet again. This time, however, it was not laughter and the sounds of casual conversation that pulled him from the slanted script, but his name being called. “In here,” he said obediently, notifying Andre that he was welcomed into the room, though Dorian himself stayed on the chair he had found himself in.

Dorian listened to his former Headmaster’s carefully calculated plea for his support. He couldn’t help but question why, of all people, Dumbledore would come to him to join his vigilante group. Dorian was well known as a rule follower, and vigilante seemed the exact right word to describe what Albus was offering. Who but a mad man would think Dorian Humbert would break the law? Under peer pressure no less. Dorian shifted slightly in his seat, the wand on his lap still casually pointed in the direction of his conversation partner, though his grip was relaxed.

However, the older wizard had made some fine points, points which Dorian himself had come to realize a while ago. The Ministry of Magic was no longer ran by those with all magical persons’ interests at heart, but only with a select few. The blood supremacists were no longer merely planning a takeover, it had happened. Dorian had allowed it to happen, if only by following the rule of law instead of his moral convictions. Of course, Albus Dumbledore had a reputation around the Ministry these days, and while it was becoming more and more difficult to discern what was truth and what was fiction, he could not discount the possibility that Dumbledore was attempting to lure him into something untoward. He needed to proper evaluate the situation, which could not be done under a silencing spell in the middle of a public library. “This was an enlightening conversation, Mr Dumbledore. I hope you understand my need to ruminate on what you have presented here.” Dorian rose from his seat, delicately pocketing his wand and picking up the books from the table that he had collected for Ariel.

With a polite salutation, Dorian departed from the silencing spell’s boundaries, checked his niece’s books out with the librarian, and headed home to think on what had occurred. Much later that evening, after Ariel had long fallen asleep, still wearing her purple tutu and clutching her stuffed Prancing Pony, Dorian sat in the lounge with a single scrap of parchment on the glass table in front of him. In his tidy scrawl, the word “yes” was written in black ink. He stared at the message, wondering whether he had lost his mind in deciding to join a vigilante organization in the midst of a civil war but the answer was all too clear to him. Ariel had lost her mother and father because of the war, because of the people who were now seated in positions of power and creating laws that were purposefully designed to hurt people. Without resistance, thousands of magical and muggle people alike would be at risk. He weighed the risks against the benefits, and as Ariel slumbered peacefully upstairs, Dorian sent his message to the Hogwarts Headmaster. He was in.

He could hear footsteps from the other side of the door and took a steadying breath as he prepared for the short speech he’d grown far too accustomed to delivering. There wasn’t much to say and any interactions they would have would undoubtedly be short and uncomfortable, but as a man with his own little family still intact; it was his discomfort to bear. The door opened and the disheveled woman standing in front of him asked for his identity. “I am Agent Humbert with the Auror Department. I am looking for Mrs Andromeda Tonks.” He had memorized the name on his short journey from the Ministry building. How impersonal would it have been to stumble over the woman’s name or have to read it off a piece of parchment when delivering the news that her husband had been killed and she was now a widow. The absolute least he could do was know her name.

None of this was news to Dorian. Albus Dumbledore was opening no eyes in this conversation, and Dorian was already working from within in an attempt to correct the injustices that were happening under his feet but thus far he’d made very little impact. The reach of You-Know-Who’s grasp was extending further and further by the day and Dorian was practically working himself to death trying just to keep the peace. This war was the literal reason he and Immy had not had a single date that they’d seen to the end; he was pulled away to investigate series after series of gruesome murders and kidnappings, while Immy was called in to tend for the lucky few who survived. Nothing either of them did was slowing the chaos any. If Dumbledore knew of a way to help, actually succeed in helping, it was worth listening to, but Dorian wrestled with the thought. “Of course.” But what exactly was the man proposing? Clearly whatever Mr Dumbledore was thinking of doing, or already doing, would not be condoned by the Ministry of Magic and therefore was potentially illegal. Dorian couldn’t be caught up with anything like that, but the vagueness of Dumbledore’s words leaned heavily in that direction.

A little brown envelope that sat in Dorian’s inbox. More like this one had just been delivered and their numbers seemed to rise with every passing week. Only a few days earlier Dorian had delivered three in one day, standing there stoically as a loved one pleaded for some kind of mistake and made deals with a higher power if only they could turn back the clock. Dorian delivered each one personally, if he’d been the Auror assigned to the case, and while standing in the doorway watching a life fall to pieces in front of him was soul shattering, it was nothing compared to the ever growing number of envelopes who had no one to be delivered to. Entire families eradicated, chased out of the country, or simply vanished off the face of the earth. If there were darker days to come than this, Dorian wasn’t certain he’d be able to withstand them. At the very least some perplexing mysteries had been recently clarified to him, a small condolence on an otherwise unfortunate existence. To think that there had been a time not too long ago that Dorian would have scoffed at the idea of working with a vigilante organization such as the Order of the Phoenix, but there was little to be done about their current standing by following protocols; most of which had been heavily modified since the new administration had come in. His membership in the secret organization was, perhaps, not the legal path but it was the right path, and the only path that offered Ariel a worthwhile future. Dorian frowned at the brown envelope, his jaw tensed, and then snatched the notice from his inbox and rose from his chair with determination.

It was a small, unassuming home in Middlesex set on a crowded street. Dorian approached the walk, hands stuffed in his trouser pockets as stepped over a series of toys that laid on the garden path. He could practically taste his heartbeat as he pushed the buzzer on the front door and pulled the envelope from the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

The doorbell rang and Dorian's heart sank. A piece of him was hoping that she'd send word from the hospital that she'd been called away for work once more and reprieve him of this horrendous duty that laid before him. Her appearance on his front porch dashed any chances of escaping the inevitable, and while it was sure to not be a wholly pleasant evening given the circumstances, Dorian knew it was for the best. He pulled the roast from the oven and set it on the cook top gently, then slipped off his oven mitts and headed toward the foyer. Pulling open the door, his heart sank once more at actually laying eyes on her. She was lovely and he felt like a cad before she'd even stepped foot inside his home. "Wow," he said in a complimentary tone. "You look lovely." He pulled the door open wide and stepped aside to give her space to enter. "You're right on time. I just pulled the roast out."