It was a beautiful day for late January (that was to say, it wasn't currently raining) and Darian's step was full of spring as he made his way to the front door of Moonmoth Hall. He could have flooed in and saved himself some frozen fingers - what's more, they could have done this at Libertine - but he'd wanted badly to get out for a walk. He could beg it off as the benefits of family, no need to come into Diagon when for Aunt Aisling he'd make the house call, and of course that it let him get rid of some of his own boundless energy was just a plus. He'd really done it in for himself by living at his workplace those weeks at a time, and now he was itching to escape. He always regretted at times like this that both the girls were at Hogwarts instead of little tykes wobbling about where he might greet and play with them, for nearly nothing exhausted one so much as children.

Fitting with his boundless mood, he'd worn one of his more excitable suits. He was always careful to wear something loud or outrageous on his visits to Moonmoth in case his uncle was around. Today his suit contained a multitude of sparks which raced and exploded across the face of the fabric in gentle slow motion. It wasn't fit to make anyone sick but it certainly would have drawn some stares if Darian, mindful of that Statute which limited his actions while traveling through Muggle London, hadn't stroked a hand down the side of it and bid it stay still until the house elf opened the door for him.

Once safely inside all bets were off and he became a riot of activity again. The house elf gave him a very odd look when he bent to tickle one of its long ears. It bore away his jacket and scarf reproachfully, letting him escort himself deeper within in search of who'd hailed him on his own.

Aisling was waiting in her favorite sitting room, looking out through the windows at her flourishing garden. She had even added a few small planters of herbs and magical plants, a selection which, as a sharp eye might notice, tended heavily towards ingredients used for more simple potions.

The room itself was somewhat more unkempt than usual. Unkempt in this case meaning a carefully stacked  pile of papers on a table next to one of the armchairs, and a small blanket draped over the chair itself as if someone had been conducting their reading there.

Aisling herself was currently seated on one of the long couches, and she turned slowly towards the doorway at the sound of footsteps. The camouflaged shadows beneath her eyes were just showing, though they didn't impact the warmth of her smile. "Darian. It is so good to see you. "

His suit brought forth the slightest of raised eyebrows as she motioned for him to take a seat. "Tarron isn't home just yet, but I expect that he won't be long." At least she hadn't spent that day dealing with corpses in very public locations. Such tended to make Tarron worry, especially at a time such as this.

He found his aunt in the sitting room, looking as per usual like something out of a Home and Gardens magazine. She was calm, collected, and the room was pristine. She only raised an eyebrow at his suit. Well, he was rarely able to ruffle her with his selections. Usually he didn't even try. Hers were the less amusing reactions when one considered the other inhabitants of the home. Darian swooped in to drop a kiss on her cheek before taking one of the proffered chairs.

"It's wonderful to see you as well," he agreed. "Am I here for Uncle too, then? Or is this a personal rather than a professional visit?" She had not mentioned in her letter at Christmas what she wanted to discuss with him, and he had assumed - as was not unfounded or insensible - that it was a matter of business again. He had brought in his bag everything he might need for such a discussion, whether she wanted new attire for herself or for Tarron, IF she wanted new attire for herself or Tarron. If it was simply a little family visit, well, he would enjoy that too.

"I think that it would take far longer than we have here for your uncle to properly evaluate any changes to his wardrobe."  Aisling chuckled at the prospect. Tarron did tend to dress as if he were about to attend a party which required Edwardian costume. At least he looked good in it, though her opinion there was somewhat biased.

She knotted her hands together over her stomach. A gesture that drew just a little attention to the ways in which her dress seemed a little tighter; around her waist, her chest. "It's for both reasons, in truth. It seems that I will be needing to make extensive use of your talents over the next several months. Unless I wish to purchase an entire new wardrobe to never be used again afterwards."

Her smile was tired, more blatantly so than her earlier expressions . The thought of months more seemed overwhelming at times.

Let no one say Darian was slow on the uptake; Aisling laced her hands over her stomach pointedly, and his gaze followed. There was nothing there that couldn't be explained by a surplus of recent rich meals, but they wouldn't be having this conversation if that was all it was, would they? He laughed, and stood in one swift motion to swoop down on her again and kiss both her cheeks lovingly. He took her hands in his, eyes sparkling with good humor.

"Congratulations!" he cried. "Well, this will be a proper challenge. I've never made maternity clothes before." Though he had no particular interest in doing so, the thought of his aunt in elastic-waisted skirts from lesser stores was horrifying. Still, he had Libertine's reputation to think of. Menswear and maternity were very different genres. He'd suited many fat Ministrymen in his time but never accommodated any woman's growing stomach; the first was necessity, the second rather twee. Moreover it would be hell to design clothing that stretched to fit yet remained perfectly tailored, and his perfectionism wouldn't allow any less. Darian tilted his head while he considered, thinking it over. If Aisling hadn't been family, he would have turned her down.

"I'll see what I can do," he told her at last. He bowed over her hands, his tone apologetic, of course, you must forgive me. "It's not exactly my field."

There was a brief moment of worry, a twitch in her smile, a trembling in her hands. This family was such a complex, volatile thing with just her presence, let alone another child. It was so easy to anticipate another fuss, howlers and rumors and threats. But Darian was all warmth and excitement, and so she smiled up at him, and let her hands relax in his. "I know it is much to ask, but thank you." 

A touch of amusement crept into her voice when next she spoke, and perhaps she seemed just a bit less tired. "With this, I will be doing far less work in the field. So no need to restrain yourself on that account." Acceptable Muggle clothing was a bit of a constraint, both in style and in function. But with her work it would hardly do to show up in anything inappropriate or several decades out of date.

"I fear that I'll be so very bored of my desk soon enough, though. There is only so much paperwork that I can stand." Maybe she would have to get a new one. And an actual office.

If Darian anticipated her worry, witnessed the strain in her eyes and hands at his family's likely reaction to the mixed blood babe swelling Aisling's stomach, he played easily deaf, mute, and blind. No cruel knowing sharpened his bright smile; he would not be here when (if) the Howlers poured in. Oh, she'd be lucky. Icy Morgan displeasure led more likely to her being ignored. And certainly he though the pureblood heir he might be basked in the feel of that vicious disapproval, or else he wouldn't have visited her all these years. She wouldn't get anything ugly from him. He was perfectly charming and enthusiastic on her behalf.

"Well, that will be easier." Robes were so much more accommodating than Muggle-fitted clothing. "You will have to resign yourself to much inactivity as given your condition, as I'm usually led to believe - perhaps you could take up the crossword?" He smiled at her, a rather wryly amused expression.

“Forgive the intrusion,” Tarron said, voice deep and dark as he looked at Darian. His arrival in the doorway was rather abrupt, the man’s dark clothing blending into the long shadows of Moonmoth’s inner hallways. He stood with his hands behind his back, eyebrows raised.

His expression, turned firmly towards Darian, asked but one question – what, by Merlin’s great knobbed staff, was Darian wearing?

“Darian. So good to see you.” The phrase was firm, but not edged – a nicety, standard to the setting, that nonetheless was not an outright lie. He did not dislike his nephew; rather, he would have liked to like the redheaded man, but the man’s…antics…made that difficult.

Striking off on his own? Starting a tailor’s shop? Preposterous. And then to run about dressed like he’d been smeared in unicorn’s vomit?

“As always, your attire is creative,” he added, tone deadpan.

“I assume you have disclosed your secret then, dear?” he asked Aisling, looking to her as he approached the couches.

"Ah, there you are." Aisling smiled over at her husband, his reaction to Darian not dampening her mood at all. "And yes, I just have. Darian was just gracious enough to offer assistance with my clothing, as I fear that I'll need it." She gave Darian a grateful look, both for his offer and for his enthusiasm.

She patted an empty space next to her on the couch and looked over to Tarron, in the hope that her husband might join them.

"He was just suggesting that I might need take up the crossword in a few months, though I do hope that I don't become that bored." It felt as if she was putting on weight so quickly, that this would be evident to everyone far too soon, before she'd even come to terms with it. And yet it still might not be enough. Merlin, but she'd be spending so much time on Healer visits alone.

"I think that I may start with chess and responding to letters. And perhaps a few more guests invited over for tea, though I suppose I shall see." If she had a bit of luck, there wouldn't be too much time where she had to attempt to entertain herself while trapped at home.

As always the look on his uncle's face when he arrived was fit to lift the spirits, a veritable breath of fresh air to Darian's always-hungry ego. Oh, how he loved prompting that little mental struggle, that expressional strain! It was truly one of the highlights of visiting Moonmoth.

He leapt to his feet and quickly engulfed his uncle in a brief but enthusiastic hug, relishing the feel of thick, tangible, frosty disapproval and ignoring the keenly honed but sadly neglected self-preservation instincts that shrieked all the louder the closer he put his face to Tarron's. Feeling impish he also dropped a kiss on his uncle's glacial cheek before he drew away. He was dying to make it a smacker but manfully refrained. Perhaps when he said his goodbyes.

Darian retook his seat, conspicuously adjusting his exploding lapels in response to his uncle's 'compliment.' "You're too kind," he said brightly. Butter wouldn't have melted in his cherubic, smiling mouth. "But congratulations! I hear you're to be a father again. We were just discussing accommodations, weren't we?" Aisling confirmed that they were. "Oh, chess would be a good idea. If it'd please you, I'll play." Leading to his increased presence in Moonmoth. And for Tarron's benefit, the increased presence of his suits.

Darian surged up, all shimmering stars, fluttering fabric and bright, boisterous smiles. It was only Tarron’s rather punishing self-discipline that kept him from reeling back as the redheaded man hugged him and kissed him, Darian full of energy as ever. His nephew had not changed overly much since his youth, as it turned out.

He’d been annoying then, too.

Tarron’s pose did not change, save a simple acknowledging pat to Darian’s shoulder. When the man withdrew, Tarron’s hand folded behind his back again.

Aisling had been telling Darian of her pregnancy? Tarron looked at her with an eyebrow raised. Somehow Darian was not the one he would have consulted about…accommodations. He’d house the baby and its mother in some sort of animated shrine to muggle poor taste, no doubt. And then cover the both of them in sequins.

“Were you, now. How kind of you to assist your Aunt.” His tone reflected his face – glacial, dark, and measured. His dark blue eyes studied his nephew carefully, but the man seemed as flighty and alacritous as ever.

“Perhaps you should take up his offer, dear. I am sure Darian is a far more interesting opponent than I.” Darian’s offer to play chess with his Aunt was an interesting one. Somehow, chess did not seem to Tarron to be a game Darian would be any good at.

One matter that had always been clear was how drastically Tarron's personality differed from that of his nephew. And while Aisling might err on the side of presuming that her husband displayed more of the kindness he displayed towards her to others than he actually did so, she was still not oblivious to his moods.

"There may not be anything with the profile of the Yule Ball coming up, but I would hate to be caught in anything ill-fitting, or inappropriate." She gave Tarron her most reassuring smile. Darian had made enough clothing for her over the years, and had proven himself understanding of her expectations and tastes. Even if his own outfits seemed to reach new, spectacular heights of flamboyance every time that they spoke.

Merlin, but this was going to be rather awkward if Tarron stayed looming over the both of them for the entire conversation.

“Perhaps you should take up his offer, dear. I am sure Darian is a far more interesting opponent than I.”

Aisling shook her head softly. "I will certainly take up the offer, but you know that I could never give up our games. I think that I'll have more than enough time for both over the next few months." At least, unless she wanted to push Tarron's worried glare at the prospect of her working in this condition to its limits.

There was the slightest edge of tension in the room, Tarron's dark, unamused tones sliding right off Darian's back but not before being noticed by his wife. Darian smiled and smiled and didn't mind one bit. He did wonder, occasionally, whether Aisling confided to Tarron exactly how many of her gowns were Libertine made. For the suspicious looks he received whenever the subject was broached one would think he dressed his aunt in the most avant-garde Muggle styles. Even now Aisling reassured her husband she wouldn't be wearing anything ill-fitting or inappropriate.

"More wizarding designs, I'd say," he added idly to her comments. It was not at all his intention to gain Tarron's approval nor anything he strove for, but he sort of wanted to see how far he could stretch the measuring look the man was attempting to pin on him. "Robes are so much more flexible in situations like these."

Another thought occurred to him. "Do the girls know?" he asked, smiling.

Oh, good, wizarding designs. So his wife still had a chance of looking rather like a Faberge egg – but at least it would be a proper one, with its seams done up with magic, as they should be. Sarcastic though his line of thinking was, that was somewhat reassuring.

He raised an eyebrow at Aisling’s comment. “Hardly. I should think you will have plenty of time for both. Darian will not be here every day, after all.”

The last sentence’s tone dipped. That had not been a lighthearted comment, at least not so much as the preceding one had been – that was a command, a statement of fact. Tarron quite liked his sister, though their temperaments were differencing ones. But her eldest son was not Tarron’s favorite relative.

He looked to Darian at the man’s question, an eyebrow slightly raised. “Unless Aisling has spilled her secret in her desire to tell everyone we know, I believe they are in the dark as yet,” he said, somewhat dryly. “The distance of Hogwarts makes such a conversation difficult.”

"More wizarding designs do seem ideal, I should only need a few Muggle-appropriate pieces in the future." She would have to inquire later about any particular preferences which Tarron might have, as to ask here seemed potentially awkward or even inappropriate. "And I do have many of those already."

As well as a few chess sets, one of which had been set on a table behind where she was seated. Aisling turned her eyes towards it momentarily, in thought. "I expect that a few of my coworkers would be willing to come over and play as well, as some of them have an interest."  Johann was a likely candidate for that, presuming that he avoided falling asleep during the promised game. "But I am not away from work yet, so I needn't worry about it just yet."

“Unless Aisling has spilled her secret in her desire to tell everyone we know, I believe they are in the dark as yet,” he said, somewhat dryly. “The distance of Hogwarts makes such a conversation difficult.”

"I have not sent them an owl yet, but I will need to do so soon enough. It would hardly be appropriate to wait until they're back from school, and I would hate for them to find out from some other source." They might be excited, or upset, or some mixture of both, but both her daughters deserved to hear such news from her, whatever route such took.