Dreogan was known to be, from time to time, slightly frazzled and disheveled, but he was never known to be forgetful.

And, to his credit, Dreogan had not been exactly forgetful of his standing Wednesday night dinners with Moira Randall. Being an optimist, Dreogan sometimes overestimated his ability to accomplish things in a timely manner, so he did not at all find it distressing when, at 5pm that evening, something pressing had come up: A lead. Dreogan was visiting the Met, using the thin veneer of Ministry of Magic-UK Ministry relations in order to make a few inquiries. One things had lead to another, and that led to Dreogan feeling the need to visit the scene of the crime of every last assault listed on the records in the past three weeks.

Three weeks because Dreogan could not humanly -- even magically -- visit all the places in the past two years, though he knew that the man he had met on Saturday had likely been menacing the public that long, if not longer.

When Dreogan did finally return home at 10:30, he almost considered it too late to knock on her door. He knew Moira was a busy woman with a hectic schedule. He climbed the stairs of his complex and, pausing at the third story, scratched his fingers through his curls, contemplating her door a minute.

He couldn't help absently thinking that some of the wards and precautions he had put up felt weaker. Little wonder; it had been a month, after all. Dreogan realised with some distress that he'd not had much time to truly catch up with his friend. Wednesdays had been a series of eat-and-runs. Either she or he would have to run off to do something, talk to someone. . .

From what Dreogan had heard, Moira had been doing a lot of talking to some very high-up someones.  Or just one. Dreogan was not one for gossip, but a bit of romantic prying might be welcome after an evening of criminal investigatory prying.

Besides, Dreogan reasoned. It was 10:30. She might we worried about what happened to him.

Dreogan knocked on the door, rubbing the back of his neck with his other hand as he did so, feeling slightly like a child confessing to a teacher that, for the first time, he had skipped class and was very sorry for it. (Of course, he had never really skipped class, but had he, he imagined this might be how it felt.)

It was Wednesday night and Moira was desperately trying not to worry herself over the possible reasons that Dreogan might have missed their usual dinner without letting her know ahead of time.  She knew he tended to take on a lot, and she hoped he was simply bogged down with work and not in any sort of trouble.  She was a natural worrier, and she didn’t want that to consume her as she passed her evening.  She had eaten and fussed over the leftovers a bit before taking Wylie for a long walk.  The young, oversized puppy was now curled up on the sofa and she could hear him snoring lightly.

After reading had proven impossible, she had decided to pass the time playing the piano her parents had sent to her a few days earlier.  It had been hers when she was a child and she found she was glad to have it back.  However she her fingers moved over the keys she tried not to wince as she felt a but rusty.  She had used a few charms to muffle the sound for anyone outside the flat.  It was growing late and she hated the thought of disturbing any of the neighbors.

A knock on the door caused her to stop playing and look over at the clock.  It was nearly 10:30 and she knew there were very few people who would be at her door at this hour.  She heard Wylie give a soft growl as he raised his head and then he stood silently as she did, moving towards the door.  Since the incident with Kyle the dog seemed to figure out that his job, no matter how loveable he was, was to help serve as a guard.

Taking her wand from her pocked, she made quick work of the lock and cracked the door open.  She saw Dreogan standing on the other side, and she felt her worry ease.  He was looking a bit sheepish and she couldn’t help but smirk slightly as she opened the door a bit further and dropped her wand back in her pocket.  She gave Wylie the command to sit, which he obeyed, leaving room for someone to enter the door.  Her smirk turned into a smile as she stepped aside, motioning for him to come in.

“Come on in,” she said.  “Are you hungry?”

She wasn’t going to launch into an interrogation.  If he wanted to explain himself, he would.

The door was opened, Wylie at the ready, wand at the ready. Intimidating to other stoppers-by, perhaps, but Dreogan smiled. He was thrilled.

"Hi. Thanks," he said as he stepped inside. "What spell were you thinking of using?" He asked. Then nodded back towards the door. "You know. Just then." Dreogan couldn't help but still feel the bit of the self-defence trainer.

As he waited for her response, he looked about the apartment. "Muffling charm?" he asked, sensing his voice sounded different here. Dreogan himself had employed a muffling charm many a time in his day. However, when trying to gather information on others, it was always less helpful. His eyes then fell upon the piano. "Ah. I didn't know you played; haven't heard you but, well, I guess you cast a good muffling charm, then."

Part of him could not help but feel slightly uneasy; he wouldn't be able to sense if things were amiss in the flat if he couldn't hear.  Not that he had been at his flat recently.  "I'm sorry about dinner tonight. I just," he shrugged, "got caught up with some things I'm working on." Deciding to keep it simple; no need to mention the man from Saturday, Cináed Tawse just now.

He peered in towards the kitchen. "Did you make something, or should I order takeout? My treat, of course. Sorry; I just . . ." It was not often that Dreogan had felt inadequate, but recently, it was a feeling he was trying on often. Perhaps there was a way to make it more comfortable.

"So how are you?" he asked, trying to fill the space, then blushed and laughed quietly to himself. "Sorry. I guess I ought to let you answer one of the other four questions I've already asked. . . yeh?"

As he stepped inside, Moira smirked at the first question.  Leave it to Dreogan to be curious about what he through processes was when opening the door to a stranger.  She had really thought too much about it, but had just known she should be ready when she unlocked the door…just incase after all these weeks Donnelly finally resurfaced to make use of her healing skills.

“Most likely it would have been a simple Stupefying Charm,” she told him, as he looked around the room.  “Something that would hopefully give me enough time to seek further assistance and not have to patch up whoever might have been looking for trouble outside my door.”

He started talking again then, and she moved into the flat, letting him speak without interruption.  He didn’t seem to notice at first as he went from one topic to the next, and she smiled slightly as she crossed to the kitchen.  Leaning against the frame of the doorway she looked at him as he finished, laughing a bit as he realized he had been asking questions without awaiting a response.

“Let’s see…” she said, “It was a Muffling charm, I got quiet proficient when I would spend my summers at home and with to play late into the night without disturbing my parents.  I usual only keep it up when I play…it’s something I’ve been doing since I was a kid, but I’m a bit out of practice with my playing.”

She believed the next topic was dinner, and she continued, “Don’t worry yourself over dinner, I figured you were working…I’m just glad to see you’re alright.  I ate earlier, but I obviously have leftovers, and it will only take a minute to reheat.  And I’m doing well…The last few weeks have been considerably less exciting.”

At her knowing smile, he grinned in response. "Just checking. If you answer a door to an assailant on the other side, he's ready; he was the one who knocked, after all. Stupefy is good; do you know how to cast spells wordlessly? I suggest you begin the spell as you reach the door. Just in case; you don't need to follow through with it if it's foe. Or, better yet. . ." Dreogan looked up at the actual door. "I'll get you a Peeping Tom." He smirked.  "Also known as Peering Glasses or Seeing Scopes. Like Muggle Peepholes. My treat. You'll be able to see who's at the door before you even answer it." He paused. "Not to . . . sound like a door-to-door salesman."

At the mention of the piano, Dreogan was intrigued, his brows naturally furrowing as they always did when listening intently. "Midnight piano?" The smile grew nostalgic now. "Something you do to de-stress, or something your parents cajoled you into?" Dreogan had been fortunate; his parents had never pushed him into anything he had not enjoyed -- he had shared nearly all the same passions as his father -- but he had heard from fellow classmates in his time of sports leagues, oboes, broomstick flying lessons, magic carpet weaving all pushed upon unwilling young minds.

Never the proper mindset for learning. From the fact that Moira still played from time to time, Dreogan assumed she must have enjoyed it. He supposed the closest experience he had had with involuntary enlistment in activities was cooking. Dreogan's mother had always been quite the culinary artist and had forced him to sit in on quite a few cooking lessons. He had never taken them seriously, however, until Dreogan's mother had also begun slipping sedatives into his food when he grew too anxious or overworked, refusing sleep. At those times, Dreogan was more than happy to cook for himself. Even if he was the one who had to eat it afterwards.

As he waited for her answer, he nodded to her explanation of dinner. "If you don't mind, leftovers sound wonderful," he input quietly. "I'll treat to dinner next week, of course. Along with the Peeping Tom." He smiled. "It's bound to be better next week anyhow, as I'll have my mother's supervision when cooking. I'm staying with her for the next little while; just if you wonder where I am. I'm just here tonight to collect some of my things."

Laughing at his slight joke about sounding like a ‘door-to-door salesman,’ Moira found herself liking the idea of having a Peeping Tom.  It would give her a bit more security actually to be able to see who was at her door before even opening it.  That was too she could simply choose not to open it at all, should she decide the person outside had no business being allowed into her home.

Something you do to de-stress, or something your parents cajoled you into?

“It started as something my parents wanted me to do, and I grew to love it,” she said, her smile a bit wistful.  “Music is one of those things I love, but I didn’t want it to turn into a job, so I went into healing.  My father was musical…He came from this ridiculously wealthy pure-blood family and he told me all of the children received musical instruction.  It was one of the only things from his upbringing he wanted to pass on to me.”

She had never known her extended family on her father’s side.  She had only met a single uncle once in passing in Diagon Alley, aside from that vague memory they were all a mystery.  Her understanding was that they were all better off that way; still the unknown sometimes intrigued her.

If you don't mind, leftovers sound wonderful.

She gave a slight nod as she moved around the corner into the kitchen, hoping he would follow.  Taking out a covered dish, she set it on the counter and removed the lid as he mentioned staying with his mother for a bit.  She pulled out her wand and cast a quick warming spell on the food before turning her attention back to him.

“I do hope everything is alright,” she said, wondering what would have caused his seemingly sudden decision for the extended stay.  Retrieving some silverware, she moved the plate to the table setting it down.  “I think I’ll make some tea, would you care for some?”

Dreogan looked highly amused at the description of her fathers' family. "So you only are half-posh," he said with a laugh. Dreogan was going to say that her posh upbringing didn't show -- thinking that a compliment -- but quickly decided against it. Not everyone, in fact, most probably very few, wanted to be told that they did not seem wealthy at all.

There was a sort of family tension between her dad and his family that was intriguing. It wasn't surprsing, really. The more Dreogan had gotten to know a wide variety of people, the more he learned that while everyone was unique, almost everyone had the same sorts of individuality: family drama, covered-up secrets, unspoken desires . . .

He wandered to the piano and looked at the sheet music resting there. "Satie's Gnossienne #1. . ." Dreogan read thoughtfully, remembering very well the piece, a favourite of his mother's. "So," he said, "music is strictly a hobby. I don't suppose I could hear you play sometime?" he persisted, being quite a music enthusiast himself despite the fact that he had cut off all musical study at a very young age, much to his mother's disappointment. Adon -- he'd always been more talented at that.

A thought struck the back of his mind which made the corners of his lips twitch slightly into a subtle smile. "My brother plays, too, actually. Jazz mostly. He's not one for . . . rules as much," he added with a slight smirk. "He's actually going to be coming to town, soon; staying with my mother. We thought it might be nice if we all stayed together for a time, since it's been probably . . . at least three years since all of us were together in the same place." He shrugged. "She gets lonely, so when there's a family reunion, we humour her wishes."

He turned from the piano at the extended offer of tea. "Yes -- that, too. I'm sorry to eat you out of house and home tonight . . . Next week -- would you like to come to dinner at my mother's? It might be easier than bringing all the food back  here, and my mother will probably have tired of us by that point. Another woman in the house would be wonderful. If you're not busy." He was quiet a moment before adding, "And you don't have to worry about my mother, you know, thinking anything of it. She knows that . . ." he blushed. "She knows it's not like that. She asked." He laughed. "Parents can be so funny sometimes, like that. . ."

Moira laughed a bit at his comment about being half-posh.  It was something she had often pondered and wondered how different she would be had her father's family not disowned him for marrying her mother.  Would the fact that they had never wanted to anything have been more obvious to her?  Her parents had never believed in having more then they needed, but at the same time they had lived quite comfortably.

"Once I've had a bit more time to reacquaint myself with some of my old favorites I'd be happy to," she told him when he asked about hearing her play.  Not that she thought of herself as particularly talented at the piano, but she could muddle through a piece as well as the next amateur pianist.

At the mention of his brother who was musical, she gave a slight smile and then set about making tea.  She tried to picture his brother for a moment.  If he wasn't about rules, then it seemed jazz would be the perfect genre for him.  She, on the other hand, had never been a good improviser and as she usually stayed within the boundaries of rules it probably made sense she had never done much experimentation with playing jazz.

"I'd love to meet them both," she said, laughing with him as she noted the slight blush.  Clearly the topic of a possibly romantic link had come up with his mother as it had her own.  "Parents certainly can be funny...I find myself having to edit everything I say sometimes, especially with my mother.  The amount of worrying she can do amazes me.  And of course it always leads to a round of interrogation."

Like, for example, her friendship with Marcus.  After listening to nearly a half hour of warnings about his reputation she had wisely decided not to mention their upcoming date on the first.