The brunch had be nice, in its own way, though being in the same room as Teddy had wearied her on an emotional level. It was apparent her anger was far from gone, though she had -- mostly -- behaved herself. But she'd mostly stuck with Ewan and Lancelot, and she'd made a point of visiting with little Quintella, who seemed terribly shy of her but who lit up whenever she mentioned her children.
She'd been tired afterward, though, and so she hadn't even bickered much with Ewan when he suggested a nap. The fact that he helped her out of her dress and into bed had been a good incentive, as well as the tiredness, and so she'd gone gladly. And she hadn't argued about not doing anything, either, or the insistence on putting her feet up and relaxing. She'd be back to work tomorrow, and it was kind of nice to curl up in comfortable clothes and read a novel. The only thing she did insist on, in fact, was that he relax to, and do nothing more strenuous than fetch some take away for dinner and, if he really wanted, make the afters.
It was while Ewan had stepped out, though he shouldn't be long, that there was a knock on the door. She really didn't think Ewan would have forgotten his keys, and pregnancy hadn't lessened her paranoia very notably (if anything, some days she was worse than ever), so she checked to see who was outside of her wards before opening the door
To say she was shocked was putting it mildly. She'd not spoken to Hyperion in longer than she'd not spoken to Persephone, before they'd reconnected, and with more reason. After all, he was an Auror; there was no way given her circumstances that they'd have been well met, really. The best thing she had done during the war was avoid him completely, so he didn't become more of a target than he already was.
And then there was the panda bears. The fucking things made her want to cry, seeing them. Only family, Ewan and his included in that, ever got her panda bears.
So she stood at the door, hovering for an indecisive moment with her warring emotions and the knowledge that she really wasn't dressed for this kind of encounter. Dora, like most pureblood women, tended to wear clothes as a sort of armour, and the comfortable cotton skirt and simple tank top with no make up or glamours and her hair loose weren't exactly... armour. Especially with the scar of the dark mark evident on her arm, seeing as how Ewan had convinced that she didn't hae to cover it up at home, and other scars peeking out from the thin straps if you took the time to look.
The anger, as it usually did, won out, that and the sheer curiosity. Besides, she had her wand in one hand -- the left, but don't let that fool you, she was ambi-hex-trous and her dueling trophies proved it -- and her fists, and she wasn't afraid to use either. There was also the important fact that she'd never, not once, actually been afraid of her brother.
She yanked open the door, a familiar put out look on her face, and didn't hesitate to snap, "What the fuck do you want?"