Every Day [Dorian]

[Selah Innes]

Walking down the stairs the memories flowed to her and Selah smiled softly. Sure she walked these halls plenty now meeting with her kids when they couldn't leave the grounds or with professors to discuss their progress. But tonight was different, it was a party and she'd thought about skipping it; knowing Dorian would be acting as guard certainly. Things there were so strained Selah felt as if it would snap entirely so she'd effectively stepped back entirely.

No more messages, no more attempts to reach out; he'd asked her to stop so she had and she'd spent their anniversary alone thanks to that. She'd eaten at the Leaky Cauldron that night, hoping he might wander in see her and remember what day it was but by the time she left Selah still hadn't seen him. Wandering through the Great hall she smiled when one of the girls complimented her dress, she'd taken a lot of time when she chose it.

Lifting a hand to brush a few strands of her hair back that she'd left out to frame her face, she made her way over to the least crowded spot in the Hall. She'd watch for a while and then go home if she didn't see him, the saddest part was she didn't even care if he wouldn't speak to her. Just seeing him would ease her, after he'd been brought home black out drunk and she'd cleaned him up before putting him to bed; Selah had missed him even more. The thought occurred to her as she watched the students milling about, some snacking, some dancing; the professors wandering about, 'Reduced to stealing glances at my own husband.'

[Dorian Innes]

The Great Hall resembled a scene from a fairy tale, and the Winter Solstice Ball was in full swing as students, staff, and guests glided gracefully around the room in their finest attire. While everyone around him seemed caught up in the revelry, Dorian couldn’t bring himself to join in. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, posture rigid, his gaze methodically scanning the crowd with quiet intensity, though the boredom in his expression was unmistakable. He wasn’t here for the festivities; he was here to do his duty and then leave—preferably without speaking to anyone more than necessary.

Unlike many of his colleagues, who were dressed to impress, Dorian had made just enough effort to look presentable—something he hadn’t bothered with in weeks: a shower, a shave, and clean robes. It was a sharp contrast to the dishevelled state he had been in lately, and for someone who had been neglecting his appearance, this small act of self-care almost felt like an accomplishment. But as Dorian’s gaze landed on a woman across the hall, a sudden pang of self-consciousness struck him and he regretted not putting more effort into his appearance.

Selah.

Dorian knew Selah came to Hogwarts from time to time for her work—he had even made a point to keep track of it. As an Auror, he had access to the visitor's log, and he used it strategically, positioning himself in parts of the castle where he wouldn't run into her. But Dorian hadn’t checked the guest list for the ball. Special invitations had gone out, but it hadn’t mattered to him who was attending; his duties were the same, whether he was guarding a student or the Minister herself. Now, he wished he had checked.

It wasn’t that Dorian didn’t want to see Selah. He had wanted to fix their marriage ever since the Boggart incident— and had wanted to even more after waking up in their bed last month. Dorian had nearly reached out then, nearly broken the silence. But he hadn’t. Because wanting to fix things wasn’t the same as knowing how. And if Dorian tried—if he truly made the effort—he might fail. He might say the wrong thing, make it worse, and, worst of all, confirm the one thing he wasn’t ready to face: that there was nothing left to salvage, that Selah had already made up her mind.

As long as he did nothing, Dorian could still cling to the faint hope that there was a way forward—that the separation between them didn’t have to be permanent. It was easier to stay in limbo, to let time stretch endlessly between them, convincing himself that he would figure it out eventually. He told himself there was no rush, no real deadline, and that Selah would still be there when Dorian was ready. But deep down, he knew that wasn’t true. He had seen the letter. He knew Selah had options, that she could leave at any moment, and she had no reason to wait for him to muster the courage to make things right. But now, she was here. And if she hadn’t seen him yet, she would soon, and Dorian could no longer pretend that time and hesitation would give him the answers he needed. It was now or never.

With a deep breath, Dorian pushed off from the wall, his towering frame cutting through the crowd with effortless authority as people instinctively stepped aside. As Dorian approached, his heart raced, his pulse thumping louder in his ears as Selah grew closer, looking more stunning than he remembered—so beautiful it almost hurt to look at her, a painful reminder of everything he had lost. When Dorian reached her, he froze for a split second, torn between the urge to speak—to say something, anything—and the paralyzing fear that the wrong words would slip out. “Happy Solstice, Selah. You look beautiful,” Dorian finally managed, the words feeling inadequate for the moment, but somehow, it was all he could say.

[Selah Innes]

At first she hadn't noticed him but suddenly Selah realized there was a familiar feeling of eyes on her and she subtly glanced around until she spotted him. He'd cleaned up, she realized even if most likely wouldn't have noticed. Compared to how he'd looked on their doorstep that night he'd been black out drunk, there was a huge difference in her eyes as she finally focused her full attention back on the crowds of people milling about. Selah didn't want him to think she'd seen him yet, maybe he'd actually come and speak to her.

The thought appeared and vanished quickly, he'd been actively avoiding her for so long now she seriously doubted that would be the case and yet she could feel him still watching and moving closer to her. When his voice finally spoke Selah forced herself to breath slowly as she turned fully to address him. Letting herself take him in up close her dark eyes finally lifted to his face and she smiled softly, "Happy Solstice, Dorian…"

She fought the urge to move closer and hug him like she wanted too, folding her hands in front of her, she entwined her fingers together out of habit as a way to keep herself from doing so. "Thank…you. You look very handsome too." Her heart felt like it was hammering in her throat and she forced herself to swallow gently instead of the hard one she felt needed to deal with the knot trying to form in her throat. She'd been staring too long and the knowledge hit her quickly causing her to bow her head, "I didn't expect to see you."

Hoped to see him. Prayed to see him.

But she hadn't actually believed she would not when such hadn't happened in months aside from that one night and then he'd been gone when she'd gotten home from work. That hollow sensation she'd been struggling with the last few weeks swelled up, reminding her she wasn't honoring his request and she almost appeared to shrink. "I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to ignore your request for space… I just… wanted to see the kids and…"

Selah sighed and forced herself to stop talking after stumbling over her own words. Her fingers were nearly white knuckled with the strength she squeezed her fingers together, pain helped remind her that if she didn't want to lose him she had to do as he asked. It had been destroying her but she'd done it.

[Dorian Innes]

Dorian had expected—if not outright hostility—at least a cool indifference from Selah. He deserved that much; after all, he avoided, ignored, and pushed her away at every turn. If she had met him with nothing more than a nod or brushed past him as if he were just another face in the crowd, he wouldn’t have been surprised. But instead, she smiled and complimented him back, a reaction so unexpected that it caught him off guard.

Once, Dorian would have accepted her compliment with ease, perhaps even with a hint of arrogance. But now, his first instinct was to dismiss it, to shrug it off as he plucked absently at his robes, halfway to gesturing toward her dress to highlight the contrast between their attire. But something in the way she looked at him stopped him. “Well… thank you,” he said, a rare warmth creeping up his neck as he met her eyes.

Selah was staring at him, and Dorian took it as permission to look back, to really look. Holding her gaze, he let himself study her as she studied him, taking in every detail he had denied himself for so long. She was beautiful, as she always had been, but now, when Dorian looked closely, he noticed the exhaustion in her eyes, the kind that makeup could never fully conceal. She was thinner than he remembered—though, so was he—and a quiet sadness settled in his eyes as he realized he was likely the cause of both her weight loss and the weariness she carried with her.

When Selah bowed her head, breaking the moment between them, Dorian had to fight against the instinct to reach for her, to lift her chin the way he always used to when she looked away. It was something he had done so many times before without thought, but now there was an invisible line between them that he wasn’t sure he was allowed to cross anymore. His fingers twitched at his sides, but he didn’t move.

Selah stumbled over her words, and with growing horror, Dorian realized she was apologizing for being here. It was as if she believed she had somehow intruded, as if she didn’t have every right to be in the same room as him, at the same event. Selah seemed to shrink further in on herself, her fingers knotting tightly together, her knuckles turning white from the pressure. Dorian’s chest tightened with guilt, even as a selfish sense of relief crept in; she was still wearing her wedding band, just like he was.

Before he could stop himself, Dorian reached out, his hands finding hers without thought, his fingers carefully prying hers apart. “Selah, no,” he said quietly. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m… I’m happy to see you.” The second the words left his mouth, Dorian realized they were true, despite knowing that if he had expected to see her here tonight, he might not have come.

[Selah Innes]

The moment his hands found hers, Selah nearly faltered. His touch—something she had ached for, something she had dreamed of even when she knew she had no right to—was suddenly real, grounding, familiar in a way that made her breath catch. His fingers, warm against her own, pried hers apart gently, breaking the tension she hadn’t even realized had locked her in place.

Her dark eyes lifted to meet his again, searching, uncertain. His words echoed between them, quiet but resolute. “I’m… I’m happy to see you.”

She swallowed hard. He didn’t have to say that. He could have walked away, could have let her keep believing she was only making things worse by being near him. But he hadn't. And that meant something.

Selah exhaled softly, her fingers twitching as if they might close around his before she stopped herself. Instead, she let him hold them if he wanted to—just this once, just for now. Her lips parted, hesitating before she spoke, because she didn’t want to ruin this fragile moment.

“I—” She broke off, gathering herself. “I'm happy to see you too,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just didn't want to make this uncomfortable for you. I know you have to work… and you asked me to stop trying…”

Her lips trembled, and she pressed them together, steadying herself before she continued. “But if space is what you need, Dorian, I’ll keep giving it to you. No matter how much...” Her fingers curled slightly as she stopped that line of thought. It wasn't about her hurt right now, but she didn’t pull away. Not yet. “Because more than anything… I just want you to be okay.”

She could have said more. I love you. I need you. Come home. But those words had no place between them now. So instead, she offered him a small, bittersweet smile and let the silence fill the spaces where her heart bled.

[Dorian Innes]

Dorian listened to her words, his gaze fixed on their intertwined hands, struggling to process what Selah was saying. Part of him was still bracing for a fight, while the other part was distracted by how right it felt to be holding her hands again. For a moment, he let himself savour the warmth of her touch, unable to shake the feeling that this might be the last time he ever got to feel it.

Dorian forced himself to focus, trying to make sense of what she was saying. And then, slowly, it clicked; Selah had been giving him space… because he’d asked her to. "I shouldn't have... I just wanted... but I shouldn't have said that," he stammered, the words tangled and uncertain as the memory of the letter slowly surfaced. He had been frustrated that night, drinking too much, and the bitterness had spilled onto the parchment, demanding something he hadn’t truly thought through. Now, standing here, he saw it for what it was: another mistake. He let out a slow exhale, steadying himself. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice clearer now, more certain.

Suddenly, Dorian became aware of the eyes on him—curious students, staff, and even other Aurors. They were accustomed to his coldness, his detachment, and the sight of him so open, so vulnerable, caught them off guard. A few exchanged glances, others simply stared, taken aback by the tenderness he rarely allowed anyone to see. He had always kept his personal life private, but with her hand still in his, and the way she looked at him, he didn’t care who was watching.

Still, it made him realize that a crowded ballroom, in the middle of his shift, under the watchful eyes of half the room, wasn’t the time—or the place—to either fix (or end) their marriage. Dorian cleared his throat, his fingers loosening as he slowly, gently let go of her hands, feeling the absence of them the moment they dropped away. Taking a small step back, he tried to steady himself, searching for the right words, a way to ask for what he needed. They couldn’t have this conversation here, not like this.

"Can we…" he began, his voice faltering as he realized that Selah wanting him to be okay didn’t necessarily mean she wanted to fix what had been broken; loving someone, wanting them, even needing them wasn’t always enough. And if he said more—if he admitted what he really wanted—he might have to face the possibility that it wouldn’t change anything.

[Selah Innes]

The moment his fingers tightened around hers, Selah felt the air shift between them, the weight of something unspoken settling deep in her chest. Dorian had never been a man of restraint—his words were often sharp, his emotions a storm she had learned to navigate. But now… now he hesitated. He fumbled. His words were careful in a way she had almost never heard from him.

And that was how she knew.

The realization struck her almost as deeply as his apology. His hesitation, the uncertainty laced into his voice, the way he stumbled over himself—this wasn’t Dorian trying to soften a blow, nor was it him pushing her away out of anger or self-preservation. He regretted it. Not just in passing, not just because she was standing in front of him, but because he had meant it when he’d said he was sorry.

Selah’s fingers twitched in his hold, part of her wanting to pull him closer, to reassure him that she hadn’t hated him for it, that she had understood even when it hurt. But before she could say anything, his gaze flickered away, and she felt it—the quiet shift of attention from those around them.

People were watching.

Dorian must have felt it too, because the moment stretched thin between them, and then his hands slipped away. The loss of his touch hit her instantly, a sharp absence that left her fingers curling inward, but she didn’t let the ache show. Instead, she lifted her gaze, watching as he took a step back—not away, not this time, but back enough to gather himself. She could see it now, how much this moment unsettled him, how much he was holding back. And then—

"Can we…?"

She knew. He didn’t have to finish the question. He didn’t need to. Her answer was already there, steady and certain. "Of course," she murmured, her voice meant for him alone. No hesitation. No conditions. Because she had always followed him—through his fire, through his storms, through every path he had taken, even when it led away from her. And tonight, wherever this conversation would lead, she would follow him again. She didn't reach for him even as much as she wanted to; rather Selah waited for him to start walking and she would follow.