while i'm still here [Closed]

[Dorian Innes]

i don't mind, i'm okay // nothing ever stays the same 1 September 2005
The summer had been exceedingly dull for the Aurors stationed at Hogwarts. With all of the students and most of the staff home for the holidays, there wasn't much activity in the castle. The most action Dorian saw in a day was watching early-risers Headteacher Rossi and Professor Dextera eat breakfast on an irregular basis. Not that much happened during the school year either - but at least then he gets to tell students off for being out of bed past curfew.

Pathetic, right?

Dorian had been working the night shift at Hogwarts for weeks, and on the first of September, he was finishing his last Great Hall breakfast patrol and struggling to stay awake. During the morning post, Dorian was not surprised to see his great grey owl Caius swoop down to deliver a letter, but he was surprised by its contents. "You're fucking kidding me," he grumbled, a bit more loudly than intended, for a couple of heads turned in his direction at the sound of his voice. He didn't notice them, however, as he stared at the letter in disbelief. The head of the Auror department wanted extra security on the Hogwarts Express and Dorian was expected to be at Platform 9¾ in an hour's time.

...

By the time Dorian was walking the students into the castle that evening, it had been a very, very long day. Once the students were safely indoors, Dorian said his goodbyes to his fellow Aurors and laughed when they asked him to stay for the feast. "Fuck no. See you tomorrow!" he said, turning towards Hogsmeade. He shivered in the night breeze as he made quick strides across the lawn, but did not want to waste time summoning his cloak; he was nearly off of school grounds.

As soon as he was free of the anti-Apparition charm, Dorian turned on the spot and Disapparated gracefully with a quiet pop. He then stood, frozen, on the doorstep of the house that he shared with his wife. Except, it wasn't really his home anymore, not since the separation. Not knowing who or what he expected to find inside and feeling slightly panicked by any scenario, he Disapparated again, but without a destination in mind.

With a loud crack this time, Dorian stumbled inelegantly into Diagon Alley: the first place to pop into his head at the very last second. After double-checking that he didn't accidentally splinch himself with his clumsy Apparition (and that no one witnessed this embarrassing moment), he headed into the Leaky Cauldron. "Good evening," he said to the innkeeper, picking a discarded copy of the Daily Prophet off a table on his way in.

Dorian took a seat at the pub's counter, ordering, "Firewhisky, please." While he waited for his drink, he read an article about the Sixth Anniversary of the Reopening of Hogwarts, but only gave it half of his attention as he considered his options for the rest of the night. He couldn't go home… and he dreaded spending another night camped out in his office at Hogwarts. When the innkeeper returned with his whisky, Dorian thanked him with a smile and said, "I'll take a room, too, please." He returned to the Daily Prophet, and after looking at an advertisement for an enchanted razor, he turned to the classifieds.

He needed to find a new place to live.

[Malachi Lee]

It was nightfall by the time Mal concluded his business with his client. What the client described as a straightforward deal was anything but, though that did not come as a surprise to the seasoned information broker. There was almost always much more than met the eye, and it was up to him to tease the details out of each and every client. Everyone had their own agenda and motivations, and this rang especially true for those attempting to strike a deal with an information broker, for they would invariably downplay how much they valued the information they sought. Eventually the deal fell through, but Mal managed to fish out the reason why his client wanted to know something so badly, and he already had in mind a few other clients who would pay a tidy sum for that piece of information.

His work for the day prematurely concluded, Mal left the stuffy interior of the client’s shop without a backward glance. The cool night air outside was refreshing and invigorating. At this hour, Diagon Alley was pleasantly lively but not overly crowded, and a general feeling of warmth and comfort washed over him gently like waves lapping against the shore as he strolled down the street away from Knockturn Alley and its miasma of dark thoughts and emotions. His gift could be a double-edged sword sometimes, and right now he was content to soak in the relaxed atmosphere here and unwind a little.

Subconsciously or deliberately, he found his gaze drifting towards the people around him like a flâneur. His thoughts wandered and – steered by the vague impressions he could sense due to his natural Legilimens – coalesced into plausible stories about their pasts, their aspirations, their fears, and so on. A warm and fuzzy feeling welled up within him as he saw a young couple in each other’s arms, followed by a mind-boggling variety of physical discomforts as he sauntered past the apothecary. Shielding his mind, he hurried on.

Before he knew it, he had arrived at the courtyard of the Leaky Cauldron, his workplace for quite a while after he had broken up with his ex. There was no mistaking the familiar sense of homeliness and nostalgia that Britain’s most popular wizarding pub and inn evoked in its patrons, nor the distinctive scent of the food and alcohol. With his mind still partially shielded, he stepped into the pub proper. Immediately he was hit by a wave of hazy sensations, made even foggier by the presence of an intoxicated wizard somewhere in the room. Many years ago he might have had his cognition impaired by the intrusive drunken thoughts, but years of working as a bartender and his training in Occlumency had taught him to manage the negative effects of his natural Legilimency.

Sweeping his gaze across the pub, Mal easily found a few familiar faces amongst the patrons. Most of them were regular customers of the Leaky Cauldron whom he had come to know while working here, and a couple of them were his sources and clients for his ‘side hustle’. As he strode over to the bar counter, he greeted the innkeeper with a wave, who in turn acknowledged him with a quick nod.

There was another patron seated at the counter reading the papers: Dorian Innes, an Auror who was posted to Hogwarts to guard the school. Come to think of it, the school term was starting today. Shouldn’t the Auror be at the school grounds this very moment, instead of nursing a Firewhisky here by himself? Whatever the reason was, it would not do to leave anyone drinking by their lonesome. Mal crossed over from behind Dorian, sneaking a quick peek at the papers as he passed; news was more interesting when read over someone’s shoulder after all, and it was especially true for an information broker like Mal. Unexpectedly he found himself looking at a page full of classified ads. Not a particularly useful thing to know, nor were the thoughts about something of warm and comfortable that he sensed from the Auror.

“Firewhisky, please,” Mal requested as he settled down onto the empty barstool beside Dorian. “A Knut for your thoughts?” Mal asked. Though his eyes were still on the innkeeper and his body was square towards the bar, it was plain that he was addressing the Auror beside him. That was it: just a simple question, and a neutral body language that suggested that there was no obligation for Dorian to continue the conversation if he didn’t wish to.

[Dorian Innes]

After browsing all of the available studio flats for rent and growing increasingly irritable at the prospect of moving, Dorian had just slammed the Daily Prophet back down onto the bar at the same time a voice asked, "a Knut for your thoughts?" Dorian, a generally private person and in a thoroughly bad mood, felt his body stiffen defensively at the intrusion. He resisted the urge to tell the newcomer to fuck off and instead drained his Firewhisky. "I'll take another, please," he said when the innkeeper swiftly appeared to collect his empty glass. Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, Dorian frowned as his memory finally placed the familiar voice. He turned to offer Mal a smile of apology and said "Sorry mate, didn't realize it was you there."

Dorian was a frequent patron of Mal's place of business, and his body language relaxed immediately after realizing the newcomer was hardly the nosy stranger that he had been expecting. Although the Curious Chimaera was technically a café that transformed into a bar after sundown, Mal had a reputation to be very accommodating in the mornings to the Aurors working the night shift at Hogwarts. In fact, Dorian had spent most mornings this summer with Mal, drinking Irish coffees and (sometimes) commiserating together over Dorian's failed marriage.

Dorian wasn't entirely sure why he had confided in the proprietor in the first place; even his closest friends and family didn't know about his marital difficulties. There was something about Mal that put him at ease, however, and the supplied alcohol didn't hurt, either. But Dorian, sober at the moment, needed at least another two drinks in him before he could answer Mal's question. He shrugged dismissively instead, and asked "What are you doing here?" Although Dorian was mainly deflecting his question, it did look out of place to see Mal sitting on a barstool next to him at the Leaky Cauldron rather than across the bar at his own establishment.

[Malachi Lee]

Everyone had a different reaction to being caught off-guard. Some would literally jump or even let out a surprised yelp, while others would swiftly raise their guard or even instinctively hit back in some way. Most Aurors tended to fall in the latter camp, probably due to a combination of their training as well as their personalities (generally speaking, only a certain breed of people would gravitate towards such a dangerous job).

Mal braced himself for anything Dorian might say or do, but the Auror recognised him quickly enough, but not before draining his Firewhisky and asking for another first. “No offence taken,” he replied simply. There was no point dwelling further on how he had inadvertently snuck up on Dorian while the Auror was deeply engrossed in the papers, so he left that unsaid and let Dorian decide what he’d prefer to talk about.

Just as Mal had anticipated, Dorian chose to deflect his earlier question and turn the spotlight to him instead. Fair game, the information broker thought, and he took a moment to choose his words before he continued. “I was negotiating a potential deal with a client in the vicinity,” he replied truthfully, though he deliberately left out the specifics. Anyone who overheard his words wouldn’t suspect anything unusual, but those who knew about Mal’s side hustle, such as Dorian, would be aware of what kind of deal it was. “Things like that never go according to plan, but I got what I needed, and I figured that was a good enough reason to grab myself a celebratory drink.” Again, many key details were omitted there, but they weren’t important enough for most people to concern themselves with.

Right on cue, their Firewhiskies arrived. Motioning to Dorian’s drink, Mal addressed the innkeeper. “Put it on my tab, thanks.” With that said, he raised the tumbler to his nose and took in the aroma, before taking a sip of the liqour and savouring the taste. “Say, what about you?” he asked Dorian. This was the first day of the new school term at Hogwarts, and surely an Auror like Dorian would be needed at Hogwarts Castle. “Don’t you have work today? Or have your higher-ups finally decided to give you a well-deserved break?”

[Dorian Innes]

Dorian nodded, accepting Mal's explanation without further inquiry. "Makes sense," he agreed, reaching towards the ashtray in front of him before remembering that he had quit smoking (or was trying to, at least) and reluctantly withdrew his hand. He waited for their drinks to be delivered with his head down, and other than the occasional twitch in his jaw, his face revealed nothing. He said nothing either, but his body language did all the talking. With restless anxiety, Dorian wrung his hands together and fidgeted with the gold band around his left ring finger so often, that there was little doubt as to what was on his mind.

Dorian raised his head in surprise when Mal paid for his Firewhisky and thanked him with a "Cheers, mate." He took a long drink, waiting until the innkeeper was out of earshot before speaking again. "To be honest, I'd rather be at the Chimaera right now, but I need a room for the night," he said in a low voice. Dorian didn't feel the need to elaborate; just yesterday morning he had complained about getting a sore back from the couch in his office. If he had confessed to Mal the reason he had been sleeping at Hogwarts instead of at home, however, Dorian couldn't remember.

With Dorian's consistent and frequent visits to the Curious Chimaera that it was not surprising that Mal had learned his schedule. When Mal suggested that the reason that Dorian was drinking at night in the wrong pub was that he was getting a break, Dorian snorted and said "You could say that." He then launched into the story behind his double shift, ending with a "…the fucking Hogwarts Express." He finished his second drink and, still irritated, placed the glass down rougher than he intended to. He took a deep, calming breath, and not even looking if Mal needed a refill, signalled for a second (third for him) round. The Firewhisky wouldn't go to waste, at any rate.

Beginning to feel more relaxed after the comfort of two drinks and the promise of a third, Dorian continued his story in a less harsh tone than before. "… and then my kid brother got into a fight on the platform. I didn't become an Auror to give out detentions." Of course, Trent wasn't really a "kid" anymore, but Dorian tended to see the students as children, regardless of whether they were of age. "So long story short, I'm off tonight." He still had another week's worth of night shift ahead of him, however, and giving in to his exhaustion now would only lead to an erratic sleep schedule. It was best to stay awake as long as he could, even if he wanted little more than to go upstairs and pass out for the rest of the night.

[Malachi Lee]

Mal already his suspicions when he saw Dorian fidgeting with his wedding band, and indeed everything clicked into place as the Auror said that he needed a room for the night. That would explain the sensation of warmth and comfort that he had felt when he walked close to Dorian, and why the Auror had been looking at the classifieds. He nodded silently; words were helpless given Dorian’s situation, and the most they could do was to offer some cold comfort. Not that Firewhisky was any more useful, for that matter.

As Dorian launched into his story about how he had ended up drinking at the Leaky Cauldron, Mal listened attentively. Again, he already had an inkling about the source of the Auror’s troubles – it was the first day of school at Hogwarts after all, and it was likely that most of the Aurors assigned to guard the school would be required to help chaperone the crowd of noisy students. Still, it was astonishing just how badly Dorian’s day had turned out. Getting dragged into disciplining your own sibling? That was just bad comedy. Shaking his head with a sigh, Mal drained his own drink. ”You know what? You don’t need another Firewhisky. You need a vial of Felix Felicis.”

”At any rate… if you’re still looking for a room for tonight, may I offer my humble abode?” Mal asked, cognisant of the implications of him inviting another man to spend the night in his apartment. Dorian was free to dismiss this as a joke he had cracked to lighten the mood, of course… but this was a serious offer, for Mal was swift to dispel any concerns over said implications. “I have other matters to attend to at the Chimaera, so the apartment would be empty all night.”

Of course, Mal was also well aware that Dorian might doubt his sincerity. Surely someone like him who could put a price tag on everything – even intangible things like rumours – wouldn’t offer something for free without some kind of catch? The catch was… well, there legitimately was none. Everyone had more than enough worries to deal with, he was genuinely happy to lend a helping hand to one of the few people he saw as a friend.

[Dorian Innes]

Dorian laughed appreciatively as Mal sympathized with his bad day, his mood lightening accordingly with the proprietor’s comforting words. When the innkeeper arrived with the next round of drinks, Dorian smirked at the sight of them; evidently, the innkeeper had the forethought to make both drinks a double. Dorian had just been taking a long drink and feeling at ease, when to his surprise, Mal invited him to spend the night at his apartment.

Dorian swallowed hard and coughed, hoping that his reaction seemed to have more to do with the burn of the Firewhisky than the implications behind Mal's invitation. But then Mal swiftly explained – perhaps because Dorian had only managed to mumble "I, er…" in response - that he wouldn't actually be home. Dorian wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his robes, a quiet chuckle escaping his lips.

He must be drunker than he realized to be misinterpreting a friendly invitation to mean… something more. While the latter wouldn’t be entirely unwelcome, Mal's clarification came as a bit of a relief to Dorian. The terms of his separation from his wife gave him the freedom to go home with whomever he pleased… but he wasn't ready for someone new, especially not at the risk of ruining a friendship.

Now armed with all of the facts, Dorian allowed himself to consider the offer. "Actually, that would be great," he said, surprising himself. His housing situation wasn’t likely to change in one night, and he needed at least a few days away from his office couch. Dorian was still paying off the mortgage on his house, and he wasn't exactly getting rich off his salary as a low-ranking Auror. He could definitely take advantage of an empty apartment for the night and save his gold for another stay at the Leaky Cauldron.

Feeling pleased and grateful that tonight's crisis had been solved, Dorian's previously stiff and closed body language loosened as he turned on his barstool to face Mal. "Thank you," he said, in a much softer tone than the brash one he had been speaking in all night. "What's going on at the Chimaera tonight?" he asked. With his summer of nightshifts, it had been a while since Dorian had been to the Curious Chimaera after sundown, and he was curious to know what's been going on after the cozy café transformed into a bar.

[Malachi Lee]

Mal almost smiled in spite of himself at Dorian’s reaction, so amused by how flustered the latter that he didn’t even mind the fact that his unintended advances had just been rejected. Mal’s inclinations weren’t a secret, so it was natural for Dorian to read a little too much into his offer, even more so since both of them just had a few glasses of Firewhisky.

After clearing up the air, Mal was heartened that Dorian was actually seriously considering the offer. For a few moments, the auror’s face was unreadable, and so were his thoughts, but eventually he accepted Mal’s help. Immediately, Mal could feel the tension in the air dissipate, replaced by a much lighter and more relaxed mood, a mixture of Dorian’s relief and Mal’s delight that he was able to ease his friend’s burden.

“If you’re expecting some kind of cool or fun event at the Chimaera tonight, then I am sorry to disappoint,” Mal replied. It was just business as usual till the establishment closed at one in the wee hours of the morning. “But I’m trying out some new recipes after the bar closes; that’s the only time where I can really focus on getting the recipes right.”

The recipe in question here was a sugar candy that was supposedly quick and simple to make and fun to eat. As it turned out, the ‘simple’ part was a blatant lie. Yesterday he had tried out the recipe for the first time, and for some obscure reason whenever he flattened the candy between two metal plates, it kept getting stuck and couldn’t be removed neatly. “A couple of days ago a Korean student introduced me to this candy called dalgona that his Muggle grandmother would make for him during the school breaks.” There was the barest tinge of longing in his words, a curiosity about a culture that was supposedly his, yet unfamiliar to him at the same time. Perhaps that was the true reason why he so badly wanted to master the art of making dalgona. “Just two ingredients, and a handful of steps, but boy is it challenging to make.”

[Dorian Innes]

Dorian almost laughed at the idea of him expecting something cool or fun, two words he wouldn't use to describe himself as of late. If truth be told, a quiet night working on a new recipe was just about all the excitement he could handle right now. "I could lend a hand," Dorian suggested, taking a drink of his Firewhisky and realizing mid-sip that he had been too forward. Mal had offered up his home, but not necessarily his company. "But then I guess I'd have to cut back on these, or else I’d be of no use to you," he quickly added as a joke, raising his glass in the air.

While he and Mal were friendly enough, it wasn't until tonight that they had spent time together outside of the Curious Chimaera. In fact, this was the first time Dorian had ever spoken to Mal without also being his customer, and the last thing he wanted to do was make their relationship awkward by overstepping those boundaries.

Dorian dug through his pockets in search of coins, frowning as he tried to calculate what he owed. As he reached deep into his robes, his fingers brushed against the cigarette packet that he hadn’t yet thrown away. He paused momentarily, and then dropped a gold Galleon and a few silver Sickles onto the counter and finished the last dregs of his Firewhisky. He stood up, decisively pulling the packet out of his pocket and announced, "I'm going outside to have a smoke." He placed the cigarette between his lips as he walked past Mal, cupping his hand around it and lighting it once he was through the doors.

Although the Leaky Cauldron allowed indoor smoking, Dorian felt that his absence would take the pressure off of Mal’s decision, and he didn't also want to seem as eager as he was. The truth was, that Dorian needed something to do in order to stay awake. If Mal declined his offer, then Dorian would have to figure something else out to occupy his time with or risk giving in to his exhaustion.

As Dorian stood across the street, savouring his forbidden cigarette, he pulled his robes tighter across his chest. It was unseasonably crisp for an early September night, and with his cloak forgotten at Hogwarts, he was beginning to regret his decision to leave the warmth of the pub.

[Malachi Lee]

Given how Malachi had essentially described his plans for the night as something that was neither fun nor cool, Dorian’s offer to lend a hand came completely out of the left field. For a moment, words failed him and left him fumbling around for something to say. “Um…” It was only when the Auror joked about having to control his drinking did Mal get his voice back. “Yea, that’s true,” he managed tentatively, but a few seconds too late.

Perhaps sensing his hesitation, Dorian kindly excused himself on the pretext of getting a smoke outside. Still, the unexpected request left him flustered enough to not notice that the Auror had left a few coins on the counter. “You can put this on my tab,” he reminded the approaching bartender while motioned towards Dorian’s empty glass.

“Too late,” the bartender replied as he collected the coins. “You’ve got to be quicker next time, pal.” Those were the exact words Mal himself had used on his patrons before when they fought over who should pick up the bill, and it felt like poetic justice to be on the receiving end for once. With nothing left to do but pay for his own drink, Mal did so before joining his friend outside the Leaky Cauldron, all the while thinking about Dorian’s offer. Not that the presence of another was unwelcome. Quite the contrary in fact: it was always nice to have someone to bounce ideas off, and help was always difficult to come by when he was trying out new recipes in the wee hours of the morning.

For some reason, the air outside felt a little colder than Mal had remembered. Dorian was across the street, with only his robes and cigarette keeping him warm. The tip of his cigarette flared bright orange for a few moments like a little beacon, before the embers turned into pale ash that scattered into the wind.

“You didn’t need to smoke outside,” Mal began once he was within earshot of Dorian. “But thanks for giving me a moment to collect my thoughts.” He was back to his more eloquent self, now that he had reached a decision right after he left the pub. “Lest you misunderstood my hesitation, I didn’t think anyone would be interested in watching me fail at making dalgona over and over again. Unless you’re looking for a cure for insomnia, that is. Either way, I’d gladly welcome your company if you don’t mind sacrificing a few hours of sleep.”

That wasn’t the entire truth, and Mal pondered for a brief moment before deciding that there was no harm confiding in Dorian. “Also… this might sound a little irrational, but dalgona isn’t just some kind of candy to me. It’s a missing piece of my childhood, an experience I never had growing up.” Most people who attended Hogwarts at around the same time as Mal would have guessed that he had a rather unusual childhood, even if he rarely spoke about it unless asked; why else would an Asian kid with an accent from across the pond be studying at Hogwarts? “It’s a little unnerving whenever I think about how rootless I am, and I was hoping that I could learn more about my own culture by mastering how to make dalgona. And because of how much this means to me, I’m a lil afraid of messing it up, especially in front of someone else.”

[Dorian Innes]

Dorian had been smoking, his head down and braced against the night's cold breeze when he noticed Mal exit the Leaky Cauldron. His head jerked up inquisitively; concerned that after his clumsy attempt to invite himself to the Chimaera, Mal had decided to leave without him. To his relief, however, Mal was simply crossing the street to join him, and knowing that Mal smoked from time to time, Dorian pulled out his cigarette packet in preparation.

Dorian couldn't help but notice that Mal seemed flustered and apologetic and felt slightly sheepish at the thought that, in his semi-drunken state, his exit had been much more dramatic than he had intended it to be. Dorian shook his head at the start of Mal's speech as if to dismiss any incoming apologies. "It's a disgusting habit," he said, flicking ash off of the end of his cigarette and gesturing to it, "the least I could do is take it outside." Contrary to his words, he put the cigarette back to his lips and continued smoking, determined to finish the last one before he "quit" again.

As Mal explained his hesitation, Dorian listened thoughtfully, offering only murmurs of assent when appropriate. Dorian's initial relief that Mal's reluctance had nothing to do with his company turned to wonder as Mal spoke of his childhood; he was now realizing that he knew very little of Mal. It was not surprising, considering that they were in different years and houses, and as a customer of the Chimaera, many of Dorian's conversations with Mal had been forgotten after copious amounts of alcohol.

Not wanting to pry, but also not wanting to close the topic prematurely, he smoked quietly while he thought of what to say, knowing, in his intoxication, he could easily say the wrong thing. Finally deciding to simply share confidences, he spoke his next words slowly and cautiously: "I've only ever cooked with, and for, my wife." He frowned as it occurred to him that he might have already told Mal this story, but continued nevertheless to get to his point. "So this is..." Unsure of how he really felt, he trailed off. He flicked his finished cigarette onto the ground and stamped it out with his boot, then cleared his throat to continue. "I appreciate you letting me tag along -- but I'd understand if you'd rather not. I can find something else to do to stay awake."

[Malachi Lee]

Mal couldn’t help but let out a chuckle when Dorian described smoking as a “disgusting habit”. As a social smoker he was not in any position to judge, and neither could he honestly say that he didn’t enjoy the brief moments of respite from lighting up. “It’s an occupational hazard for people like us,” he surmised even as he accepted the offered cigarette and thanked Dorian.

Lighting his cigarette, he took a long drag and savoured the moment before exhaling. It was a guilty pleasure that he indulged in from time to time. The cloud of smoke, together with the pressure that had accumulated after a long day, wafted towards the skies and dissipated.

Dorian seemed to accept Mal’s explanation for his earlier hesitation, much to the latter’s relief. It was a little strange yet liberating for Mal to talk about his own worries. Usually it was the other way round, but fate or luck saw fit to reverse their roles and grant him an opportunity to confide in someone for a change.

Perhaps in reciprocation of Mal disclosing something private about himself, or in response to how the Korean viewed making dalgona as a very personal matter, Dorian mentioned how he had only ever cooked with, and for, his wife, and that he wouldn’t mind if Mal chose to work on his recipe by himself instead. “Don’t worry about that,” Mal reassured the Auror. “This wouldn’t be the first time I’m making something close to my heart for someone else,” Mal reminded Dorian. They had talked about cooking before: quite a while back Mal had mentioned to Dorian how he had once made a traditional Korean ‘hangover soup’ for one of his regular customers, though he hadn’t explained why that soup was so significant to him. “Before I broke up with my ex, we agreed to take a break from our relationship, so for a short while I went back to stay with my family in our little van. One night I drank all the alcohol in the van, and woke up the next morning with a splitting headache. My dad made a bowl of what he called ‘hangover soup’, and he sat me down and had a good talk with me. That was the first and only time he cooked anything for me.”

He paused for a moment to compose himself as the memory triggered a wave of emotions that suddenly welled up inside him. “To me, that soup symbolises care and concern for others. Some time ago there was a poor heartbroken chap who was drinking himself silly at the Chimaera. Someone came to fetch him, and I thought he had gone home safely until I found him passed out on the back alley the next morning. He reminded me of myself in the van that morning, except he was alone and didn't have anybody to take care of him. The only right course of action was for me to pay it forward and make him that same bowl of hangover soup.”

“I was a little too irrationally uptight about the whole dalgona thing earlier,” Mal continued, bringing the conversation back to the original topic. “It’s a kid’s candy. It’s supposed to be fun, and there’s no fun in trying – and perhaps failing – to make dalgona alone, right?”

[Dorian Innes]

[[Thank you for your patience during my vacation <3 I'm sorry this took so long.]]

Now that he was in the company of a fellow smoker (and still not ready to quit), Dorian pulled a second cigarette from the pack. The wind had picked up even more now, and it was a few attempts before Dorian had been able to light it behind a cupped hand. He shoved his free hand back into the pocket of his robes and was toying with the idea of using a warming spell when Mal spoke. He listened thoughtfully, and when Mal paused for composure, Dorian couldn't think of any comforting words and smoked silently instead.

While Dorian didn't remember ever being told the origin of the 'hangover soup', he frowned as a memory of him eating the aforementioned soup came flooding back. "I wasn't the heartbroken chap, was I?" he asked with a nervous chuckle. "I suppose I am, though perhaps not the one from your story." He sighed, and stared at his half-smoked cigarette between his fingers, almost putting it out before ultimately taking another long drag from it. Dorian knew he probably wasn't the character from the story, but he still felt a sense of shame that he fit the description quite well.

"Thank you, by the way, for putting up with my miserable self every day. And, I'd love to help with the dalgona... but I may be more of a hindrance," he joked, only slightly exaggerating about his cooking skills or lack thereof. Dorian enjoyed cooking, but he was not actually experienced in the kitchen; he had gone straight from school to a high-demanding profession. There had been many long hours of training, and once he finally became an Auror, free time became even harder to come by. Dorian had had a few years of domesticity with his wife, but now that he was living out of his office, it had been a long time since he had eaten anything prepared by himself.

Dorian flicked his finished cigarette to the ground, vowing that it would be his last. As he stamped it out with his boot and pulled out his wand to vanish the butts, he realized he was a little unsteady on his feet, no doubt owing to the Firewhiskies he had consumed. "I'd better get some caffeine in me if I'm going to be any use to you at all," he mused, looking back to the Leaky Cauldron and wondering if they even served coffee at this time of night.

[Malachi Lee]

When Mal related the story behind the hangover soup that his father had made for him, Dorian listened without saying anything. No words were required, and his silent support was more than sufficient. Besides, it wasn’t a sad story per se, so no comforting words or advice was needed. Still, it was a pretty sombre tale, even by the standards of one who was very used to listening to other people’s sob stories.

He was about to find a way to lighten the mood when Dorian asked out of the blue if he had been that heartbroken chap in the story. Was that the Auror’s biggest concern? Not that it wasn’t a legitimate thing to worry about, but it just felt so… random. And it was also the way Dorian had said it, all serious and self-conscious, that made it unexpectedly funny.

The more Mal thought about it, the more his amusement grew, until he finally broke out into hearty laughter. “Good grief…” he said finally, after his laughter subsided. “Was that really foremost on your mind when I was pouring my heart out with my tale there?” Immediately he changed his mind. “Wait, no, don’t answer that. I’ll take it as a moment of pure genius on your part, because I swear your comic timing was just absolutely impeccable.”

“But back on topic: nope, it wasn’t you,” Mal continued with a laugh. “It takes some real talent to be that drunk and oblivious to the world around you.” And when Dorian thanked him for putting up with his ‘miserable self’ every day, Mal shook his head. “Come on, you’re practically an angel compared to some of the other folk I’ve got to deal with.” People always said that alcohol brought out the worst in people, and on some days Mal was forced to agree. “I found out not too long ago who in Knockturn Alley could cast the nastiest Slug-vomiting Charm. Trust me, that was one vicious curse, and I’d not wish that even on my worst enemy.”

As Dorian said that he should get some caffeine in him and looked towards the Leaky Cauldron, Mal pre-empted Dorian with a counteroffer. “If you want some coffee, maybe you could help me taste test a new blend of coffee that I picked up a couple of days ago. I haven’t had time to try it, so the box is still sitting on my kitchen counter.”

There was a condition though. “Provided you haven’t had too much Firewhisky before I arrived,” he added. “Too much of caffeine and alcohol isn’t good for you, even if it makes you feel alert.” The keyword here was ‘feel’: caffeine merely provided an illusion of mental clarity and focus, when in reality one was no less inebriated no matter how much coffee they downed. Food was marginally more helpful, since it could help slow the absorption of alcohol, even if it couldn’t actually prevent hangovers if one already had too much to drink. Nonetheless, he went ahead to extend that offer to Dorian. “Alternatively, if you’re hungry, I could whip up something for you.”

[Dorian Innes]

Mal's laughter was contagious, and Dorian couldn't help but laugh as well, though he did not know what had been so funny. When Mal explained the reason behind his laughter, Dorian's grin faltered; he now realized that his question had been rather rude and selfish. Grateful that Mal had regarded it as comic relief, Dorian tried to ignore the feelings of shame and regret that were now pooling in his stomach, and other than his smile not quite reaching his eyes, he showed no sign of his discontent as he continued to laugh with his friend.

Dorian didn't have to fake his smile and laughter for much longer as Mal graciously continued to let him off the hook for his bad behaviour. His cheeks reddened at Mal's kind words, and he grunted an embarrassed, "Thanks," while looking down at his feet. Vowing to be a better listener and less impulsive with his words, Dorian said nothing more for the time being.

When Mal mentioned the new blend of coffee, Dorian nodded and said, "That sounds great," while stifling a yawn. Not only was he certain that his friend was a better barista than the Innkeeper at the Leaky Cauldron, but it was also a good idea to make the trip out to Mal's flat before he grew any more exhausted. "Hmm," he replied at Mal's warning not to mix alcohol and caffeine too much. "What do you think? I've had…" he counted on his fingers. "Three… no, four - one was a double – Firewhiskies."

As if on command, Dorian's stomach growled at the mention of food. Now acutely aware of just how much alcohol he had consumed on an empty stomach, he felt absolutely famished, if not a little nauseated. "Oh, a pre-dalgona snack?" he asked with a grin, then nodded gratefully. "Please. Lead the way."

The words were barely out of his mouth when he felt his pocket growing warm. The source of the heat was a leather notebook which, through the Protean Charm, had been linked to the notebooks of the school Aurors, and was used to communicate. Dorian continued walking towards Mal's flat, ignoring whatever message had been sent; he was off-duty after all. Finally, he swore under his breath and stopped in his tracks. "Hang on," he said to Mal, as he pulled the notebook from his pocket, flipped it open, and read.

"I have to go," he explained bitterly. "The Feast is nearly over and the Headteacher wants to talk to all of the school Aurors. Something about a bird." Dorian waved a hand dismissively and sighed. "I'm sorry. I'll grab some leftovers from the Feast and then just call it a night. I'll see you tomorrow and we can reschedule, okay?" With one last apologetic look to his friend, Dorian steadied himself on his feet before Disapparating with a loud crack.

[Malachi Lee]

“Four firewhiskies?” That was quite a bit, and Mal would definitely need to get his friend some food. Pleased that Dorian accepted his offer without protest, he led the Auror down Diagon Alley towards his flat.

They hadn’t gotten far when Dorian suddenly stopped and pulled out a notebook from his pocket. Having worked closely with Aurors during the Second Wizarding War, Mal instantly recognised what it was: the enchanted notebook was a way for Aurors to relay information to each other across vast distances. While other methods existed, such as owl post and the Patronus charm, the notebook allowed for instantaneous two-way communication, and was thus far more useful and practical in urgent situations.

Even before Dorian said anything, Mal guessed that the Auror would need to take a rain check. Unsurprisingly, Dorian regretfully revealed that he was required to return to Hogwarts. “Don’t worry about it. Work takes precedence after all,” Mal replied matter-of-factly with a shrug, and nodded when Dorian said that they could meet to reschedule tomorrow. “Alright then. Take care.”

After Dorian Disapparated, Mal continued on his way as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened, but his mind was abuzz. What matter could be so urgent that the Aurors needed to be recalled back to Hogwarts? Dorian had mentioned a bird… and while he didn’t know what that would mean, perhaps one of his informants would.