Dora had been recovering, if slowly. She had her good days and her bad days, the latter of which were what kept her in the hospital rather than in prison awaiting a trial. It was always just a bit difficult to tell which it would be when she awoke, for her moods were even more mercurial than usual since Hyperion had retrieved her from her craze upon the Hogwarts field of battle. But he was, at least, somewhat used to her, even if things tended to be a bit more extreme than they had while they grew up.
But he, at least, she trusted, and there were dreadfully few people she did so. It was a testament that she did not immediately wake when he entered the room, because she sensed it was him. However, the scintillating scent of pastry made her stir, and her pale eyes slitted open as she assessed her surroundings. She audibly grumped at him when she ascertained he was alone.