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There was plenty to do and Dorian, as expected, had it all planned out. He sat in the middle of the lounge, now cluttered with perfectly stacked cardboard boxes, each with a neatly written label for where it would go after the move. The boxes nearest to him were labeled ‘Lounge’ and ‘Kitchen’. There were several more kitchen boxes on the wall behind the dining table and against the back of the couch were several smaller boxes labeled ‘Books’. One box’s appearance let on that it had been opened and reclosed several times, the edges of the box flaps beginning to crease and curl from use. This one was labeled ‘Ariel’ and he had since given up trying to pack up any of his niece’s things. She just kept needing (or wanting) them and her memory was very good now, remembering that one toy she hadn’t played with in over a week only minutes after her uncle had very sneakily packed it away without her seeing. Dorian had decided that Ariel’s things would just get packed on the last day, when she would be spending the day with her grammy Emily and grandad Andre while the Auror and a few helpful mates cleared out the flat. Dorian had assured Caradoc that he would keep his anal-retentive habits at bay, but hopefully they could all figure out the very easy to understand labeling process Dorian had applied while packing things away.

Ariel began to fuss for the second time tonight, calling for her uncle by name. An adorably whinny “Dowr” pulled Dorian away from his packing and he went to soothe the toddler back to sleep. Some nights she slept well, falling to sleep around seven and staying in her cot quietly until the next morning, but other nights she awoke several times throughout the night. Tonight appeared to be the later, but she was easy enough to lull back to sleep. Singing to her gently, a song his mum had sung to him when he was a child, Dorian stood by the cot and patted Arie’s back until her wiggling body calmed and she was breathing heavily with sleep once more. He tiptoed out of their shared bedroom and slide the door shut, careful to not make a sound.

Sitting back on the couch with a glass of wine and a half packed box of photo albums, Dorian began packing once again, this time interrupted by a knock at the door. Brown eyes flicked to the clock sitting on the mantle, noting the late hour and wondering who would be dropping by at this time of night. He could rule out a drunken Dorcas because she had a nasty habit of letting herself in uninvited. Setting his wine glass on a coaster and rising from his seat, Dorian moved to the door. His hand moved to his wand as a precaution as he neared the entrance to the tiny flat but as he looked through the peephole Dorian became a different sort of confused. Quickly unlatching the locks and pulling the door open, Dorian looked at his brother with an expression of worry and confusion. “What’s the matter?” he asked. Julian looked as though he’d been through the ringer but there wasn’t any signs of injury or that the man had been in a physical altercation. This looked completely emotional and while the brothers were feeling more comfortable around each other these days, this was a side to Julian Dorian hadn’t yet seen.

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.

His one dance limit had already been exceeded for the evening and Tersha had only just arrived. His boundaries were quickly being tested but in opposition to his own expectations for the evening was his manners. Dorcas had scurried off to the bar, leaving her best friend to be entertained by anyone else but of course the witch didn’t even skip a beat, moving in close enough to make Dorian uncomfortable as she began to move her scantily clad body to the music. He couldn’t very well up and leave her in the middle of the dancefloor with these strangers, although the thought had crossed his mind as had the argument that Tersha was more than a social butterfly and could easily handle herself on a dancefloor surrounded by strangers. “Certainly not me,” was his response to her rhetorical question. He was cursing his choice of costume and the insinuations it was making without his consent.

The music was not his favorite but there were some catchy bits that Dorian wasn’t completely opposed to. So long as Tersha kept her hands to herself, he wouldn’t mind continuing their dance until Dorcas returned and he could excuse himself to the little VIP section he’d arranged where he could partake in the evening with minimal participation. His hopes of a speedy escape were dashed, however, when Tersha leaned in and referenced Dorcas’ birthday present. Dark eyes traveling the length of the room, he saw Dorcas talking with a tall bloke with a familiar build. The man’s face was covered but it was obvious to anyone who knew the blonde witch who she was speaking with. “Finally admitting to her secret boyfriend, is she?” he asked, knowing much more about Rodolphus Lestrange than he wanted to. The couple walked off to the VIP area, leaving Dorian on the dancefloor with a now emboldened Tersha Knight. He could have used one of those drinks on Dorcas’ tray.

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.

Nearly done with his paperwork and getting ready to have a stroll down to the Department of Mysteries for himself to ask after this new recruit he was supposed to be training, Dorian paused from his work to look to the door as someone knocked lightly and pushed their way inside. At first glance Dorian momentarily thought the young woman was a lost visitor obviously struggling to find whomever or wherever she was headed. The romper the witch was wearing was reminiscent of a school girl’s uniform, and had it not been for the badge on her handbag, and the fact that he had been waiting for her, Dorian might have ushered her off to one of the department secretaries for guidance.

“Yes,” he answered, standing from behind his desk and extending his hand in a formal greeting. “You must be the new Unspeakable. Miss…Rowle, is it?” He had her name on a memo somewhere, though he had half been expecting a wizard. He gestured to the chair in front of her for her to take a seat, and waited until she was seated before he returned to his own chair behind his desk. They had training to be getting on with, but Dorian wanted to make sure she was prepared for what their lesson would entail. “Lovely to meet you. Have your superiors explained what you’ll be doing here?”

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 music was far too loud for his tastes and the lack of any personal space was manageable though not appealing. It meant that Dorcas would no doubt take advantage of the need to be closer to him and her words only cemented the thought. "Just the ones I want to screw around with a little." He would take that to mean take the mickey out of, not sleep with, though he was more than aware of what Dorcas had intended to imply. Sometimes the best approach was to ignore her remarks, and lucky for him, Tersha appeared right on cue to pull the birthday girl’s attention off of himself.

Giving Tersha a toothy smile in greeting, which was pretty much all he could do with the thumping music blaring at them, Dorian had forgotten about the fangs he was wearing. His costume paled in comparison to the effort these ladies had put forth tonight; Dorcas wearing hardly more than knickers and Tersha wearing a cat suit to skin tight she might as well have painted the stripes on her body. Merlin, he hoped it was an actual suit and not paint. The flashing, colored lights made it hard to tell from his place on the dance floor and there were other dancers moving and blocking his view – not that he was looking!