They must have had this fight a thousand times, enough that muscle memory was enough to put Rahim in a defensive position. His back had stiffened, expression closing over, trying to give her nothing to work with. “I am good at my job, you know,” he said defensively, before he could think better of it. He knew that didn’t matter, not to her. He knew why it didn’t matter. If she thought she was the only person haunted by Ward 49, if she thought he didn’t think about it everyday … sure, he could let it stop him. But he was good at his job. It had to be true. It was the one thing he had left to hold onto, the shaky belief that he was doing good here. He had to be.
That didn’t mean his expression didn’t break as Dove flung the accusation in his face, cool control shatter, for just an instant. It didn’t even matter what control he could claw back, because Dove wasn’t the kind of person who ignored her feelings. They were written all over her face, just like their history was written in his blood, in his hands, in his last name. He wanted to hate her for that. He wanted a reason to hate her. That would make it easier, to feel this anger racing through his body as she yelled at him, and know it was for her, not for himself. That it was righteous to feel this way. He would take any reason. Just make a mistake. Hurt someone. You’re angry enough to do it. Be like me. Get out your wand. Curse me right now. His eyes had narrowed, almost willing her to do it - because what else could he say? “I didn’t do that - I’m not responsible for that,” he tried to argue, heart barely in it, but this was another belief he had to cling to, desperately. Pride turned desperation to anger, it always did. “Not everything is about your family’s tragedy, Longbottom. The world moves on.”
Dove let out a laugh, hard and cold. “Well go be good at your job somewhere else,” she snarled. “I’m sure there are hospitals in other countries.” It was a childish retort, but she didn’t much care. Her self-righteousness caused her to feel like she had the upper hand in the situation, and she most likely did, though not for any good reason. Her rage was a furious fire, more relentless than she imagined Rahim could ever be. Besides, Dove did not care if she was seen like this, not at the present moment. All she cared about was soothing the feelings of discomfort that clawed at her insides after having seen grandma Alice’s sweet features.
A colleague passed by, and Dove’s eyes grew hard as she watched them for a moment. Then, her gaze was returned to Rahim, because this was all there was now. He, his grandparents’ legacy and Dove’s inability to keep her emotions in check. “Oh, I’m not thick, I know you weren’t there, but thank you for clearing that up regardless,” she said, her voice dripping in venom still. Her eyes blazed even more then. “The world moves on? The world moves on? That’s funny, because those guilty of it all have escaped justice yet again.” The idea that moving on was even an option when it came to something so unjust was something she could not grasp. “Do you think they have moved on? Maybe you should ask them, Lestrange.” She whipped out her phone, not having to search long before finding the pictures of Rodolphus and Bellatrix defaced faces. Fascist murderer, red paint spelled underneath Rahim’s grandfather’s face. Dove shoved the thing in his face, knowing full well that this was an admittance to her being part of the Order. As if he didn’t know already. As if any of that fucking mattered. “Are you familiar with the Black tapestry? Here’s what their portraits look like now. Too bad that they never got ‘round to adding your face. I’d have loved to deface yours, too.”
