Tall Dark & Moody

Words were just that. Years of working as an Auror alongside Moody, and then under him, gave Rufus plenty of examples of actions that he could point to that would counter the man’s statements. But why was it coming up now? Had he really been that hard to talk to? No, it couldn’t have just been that. Perception and opinion weren’t strictly a one-way street. 

The implication that he was in the wrong line of work started making his blood boil again. It was all he had done in his life; bled for it many times, cried because of it, lost countless nights of sleep. He hadn’t wanted a medal either but a bit of fucking recognition would have been nice, like a larger office than the cramped one he was in. 

Rufus wasn’t religious, despite his mother trying to teach him the Protestant way for all his childhood until magic came into play, and that dropped like a stone tonne, but he was pretty sure there would be no pearly gates waiting for him. It was a mystery to anyone what lay beyond death, but pearly gates? He might have laughed at that if he wasn’t being talked at. Moody seemed to be implying that the work he’d done as an Auror wasn’t stepping up to the plate. Nearly 25 years of service apparently didn’t mean a fucking thing. But war changed things. Maybe for all his efforts right now, they weren’t even a drop in the ocean. Had he not wanted to do something more? How often he wanted to rip away the red tape that was suffocating? Was this not his chance? 

Maybe Moody could sense his wavering, for now they were eye to eye. How could he throw away years of what he felt? All the anger and frustration wasted. Rufus couldn’t let it go, not all at once. His memories went too far back. At the last question, he only glared. After a few moments, he broke off the eye contact and stepped around Moody. He needed to think without the man literally breathing down on him. 

His hands ran over his face and hair. He wasn’t sure what to make of all of it. A secret organization fighting the good fight sounded like something out of one of his brother’s comic books, except in those ones, they always came out on top. However good Moody’s intentions were, it was clear that the price they’d pay was going to be very high. He would have jumped at the opportunity immediately, but with Moody as one of the leaders, it put a fucking large wrench in everything. But this was bigger than him. He’d seen enough of the war to understand, even if he didn’t want to, that his rivalry with the man was irrelevant to it. 

With a few deep breaths, he turned to face Moody. “You really ought to get a medal for being a bat shit crazy son of a bitch.” He shook his head, not quite believing what he was about to say. He jabbed a finger toward Moody. “I don’t want to be left in the dark again.” It was the closest thing to agreeing to join that he was willing

“I’m not asking you to like me, not asking for us to hold hands and skip together singing kumbaya. This isn’t about us, it’s bigger than whatever shit you think is between us, bigger than our work at the Ministry. It’s not that what you’re doing there isn’t ok, but the question is- is it enough? Why sit on idle hands when you have an opportunity to take the fight to them. Isn’t that worth more than hating me?”

He knew it was a lot to throw at the guy, but frankly he wouldn’t have done it if he didn’t think Rufus could take it. He knew the guy could handle it, had been waiting for this conversation for ten god damned years. “Yeah well, you already knew I was crazy.” He shot the man a wink, his grin widening slightly.

Smiling gently, she tilted her head as she stared up at him. “Which only means you haven’t been sleeping at all,” observed Minerva, without reprimand or bite. There was a part of her that wanted to shake him, to take his handsome face between her hands and demand that he take better care of himself, but she ignored it. 

Not only was Alastor Head Auror, he was also the Order’s co-founder. Lives depended on him. He was a Lieutenant General in this secret war of theirs, and the weight of that responsibility was crushing. Sleepless nights were likely the least of what he’d been suffering these nights they’d been apart. She knew because of the bruises under his tired eyes and the wan tone of his normally golden huen skin. Her man was being consumed by this life he’d chosen, and she wished he had come to her sooner. 

She dropped her hand from his forearm when he unfolded himself from the chair, pulling her up into his arms with him as he stood to his full height. Minerva rested her elbows on either of his shoulders, busied one hand by carding her fingers through his hair while the other traced the hard angles of his face. Her smile was soft, warm, as tender as the adoration in her gaze as she stared down at Alastor, unprotesting as he carried her over to the bed. 

Overly ambitious as he was, Alastor put her to bed still in her robe. He folded the comforter back, laid her down, tucked her in, with the attentiveness of a man prone to taking care of people. Even if he skipped a few steps along the way, and even if those people were able to take care of themselves. An amused huff escaped her when he left her side of the bed to prowl over to the other and disrobe. As he did, she sat up to do the same. 

Minerva unfastened the knot keeping her robe shut, then shrugged out of the comfortable cotton, leaving her in one of Alastor’s old shirts and little else. She tossed it aside, not caring where it landed, not when Alastor looked as tired as he did, and was moving like the weight of his burdens were going to crush him at last. 

Watching as his pants fell, kicked aside so he could crawl in beside her in nothing but his boxers, she admired the cords of muscle, the rippling strength of his body, even as she worried how often he was testing the limits of that strength, overextending himself; both with that hard earned body and the brilliant mind behind those dark, depthless eyes. He wasn’t settled under the dovers for a second before he reached over, grabbed her by the waist, and yanked her over to him in a single tug. 

She couldn’t help the quiet yelp and silent laugh that escaped her when he pulled her into him. She knew how he wanted to lay: her curled against him, head on his chest, her tiny body pressed flush against his massive frame. But Minerva also knew how he needed to lay, so she wriggled out from where he’d tucked her, a pointed look halting any protests as she grabbed her pillow, stacked it on another, lay with her back slightly elevated before motioning for him to roll onto her, welcoming his weight with open arms, needing the stifling heat of him to burn away the recent stress that had consumed them all.

Pulling him onto her, she scratched the nails of one hand lightly against his scalp and the other up and down his back. Her inhale filled her lungs with the scent of him, and her exhale was content as she answered his question, knowing he’d feel her voice, her breathing, her every heartbeat as she answered a question as mundane as ‘how was your day?’.

“My day was rather busy,” she said into the dimness of her hearth-lit bed chambers.  “Between preparing for exams, reinforcing the wards, and managing the students, this is the first moment of respite I’ve had all day.” 

Minerva kissed his hairline, still scratching his scalp and rubbing his back. “And yours, my love? What has my lionhearted auror looking so battleworn?” She could guess any number of reasons, but she wanted to hear him say it, hoped he would talk it through with her, let her shoulder some of the burden so it didn’t flatten him under its weight.

He didn’t last long, holding her in that position before Minerva had manoeuvred the pair of them around. He let her, it was the only way she could guide him into the position she’d prefer to be laying in and the Auror wasn’t exactly against it, either. A large frame draped over her own, his crushing weight relentless on such a petite figure- but he knew she liked it that way.

With arms either side of her, he hugged the curves of her waist as his face rested against her chest, the only pillow he ever needed. Delicate fingers ran softly through his hair, easing the tension of the day straight out of his body. This was what he needed, to feel her, to be safe in the space of her.

“It’s just been a long day... the Hogsmeade case has been getting to me a bit,” he confessed. He’d been unable to sleep since he’d first taken it on. The sight of their mangled bodies burned into his brain. Any time he closed his eyes, he saw those mutilated corpses and couldn’t seem to get past it. This time, it was a little too much for him to shoulder on his own. 

He could feel the soft beating of her heart, the warmth of his girl the only thing he needed to soothe the demons that tortured him. The softness of his old, worn shirt covering her body just a further reminder to the love they shared. Whenever he wasn’t here, she had him draped over her like a blanket. God, he hated the distance forced upon them. Hated the fight that kept them apart most nights. If he could spend every minute of every day wrapped up in her arms, he would. Without hesitation.

JOE MANGANIELLO

Too many rules and too many spies. Rufus found that he couldn’t argue with that, as much as he so wanted to. The Ministry was supposed to uphold the laws and show the way to defeating those who would break them and throw everything into chaos. And yet, it was a losing battle. He knew it, and so did everyone else who was trying to put up a good fight.

His jaw clenched and his gaze hardened when Moody told him he was hotheaded. He might have agreed, if it wasn’t the Head Auror who was telling it to his face. His anger was still boiling, but he couldn’t bring himself to act on any of his thoughts of breaking the man’s nose. He couldn’t change what had happened, or to know about the Order sooner, but it was still fucking insulting.

Reason started to deep into his mind, causing much more confusion than clarity. In the confusion, his fists were easily knocked away and he found them hanging by his side. Rufus released the tension. Impulse ruled briefly before he could stop himself. “Every day of my bloody career I’ve been in your shadow, and I’ve always wondered why you were a step ahead. One day, I told myself, you’d royally fuck up and I’d be there. And here it is. You’ll lose your job if people found out that you’re leading a group of vigilantes. Can’t see that playing out well in the Daily Prophet.”

Even as he said the words, he hated hearing them. Getting Moody’s job over this wasn’t a level he was willing to stoop to, no matter how much he might want the job. “So, I’ll keep your damn secret, but I’ve got no desire to follow your shadow somewhere else.”

Alastor shrugged. “I’m not asking you to follow my shadow, I’m asking you to step up and make your own.” This whole mess between them was never one Alastor had wanted. He never asked for the promotion, never asked for the animosity. Never asked for Rufus and he to be anything like they were now. “I’m not your enemy, Rufus and I’m not here to overshadow you. You need to make your own mark on this world, instead of standing there worrying about mine.”

He shook his head, “That’s always been your problem. This war, it’s about more than recognition, more than what people think of me. I’ve been fighting this for ten years, moving in the shadows and getting shit done. Did you know? Did I ask for a medal? No. Did anyone else who fights along side me? If you think this is about my shadow, then maybe you’re in the wrong line of work.”

His tone was low, level. There was no anger, no resentment as he spoke. Only a sadness, he wished things were different between them, Alastor refused to give up hope that maybe one day, he’d change. “When you’re standing at the pearly gates, waiting to get in and they ask you ‘what did you do with your life?’ what are you going to say?”

“That you turned your back on a war that was wiping out our kind on a daily basis because you were too busy worrying about what the fuck I was doing and how that made you feel? Or are you going to tell them that you shoved whatever shit you think is between us aside, and stepped up to the god damn plate?” 

He surged forward, closing the space between them until he stood eye to eye with the Auror he’d respected for decades. “You want a fight? I can give you one. The right one, where you’re needed. Come with me, Rufus. Build a fucking bridge between us and cross over it, so you can put your talents to better use than the Ministry.” This was it, this was Scrimgeour’s defining moment.

Things started getting interesting from there. Moody was speaking riddles or something. What the fuck was beyond the Ministry supposed to mean? There was no hiding his confusion. Order of what the shit? For fuck’s sake the truth was getting weird. This couldn’t be the truth. Moody was supposed to go along with the Ministry. He was part of the red tape. Everything that Rufus was hearing now was completely different. A secret organization that he hadn’t known about. Never had he felt so out of it. No, Moody was lying. Coming up with some stupid far out story just to get him off his back. Yet the story was too wild to be made up. It would explain why Moody sometimes wasn’t around and decided not to tell him where he’d gone. Maybe the worst thing he’d heard was that Moody had wanted to tell him.

Rufus hadn’t noticed that he’d spilled his coffee on the floor, splattering on the tops of his shoes. His look of disbelief continued for several moments after the man had stopped talking. He wasn’t sure if he should strangle or punch the man first. “Are you shitting me?” His tone was surprisingly calm, but it didn’t stay that way. “Are. You. Fucking. Kidding. Me!” With each word his voice became louder until he was shouting. “For fuck’s sake, Moody!” He hurled his coffee cup against the wall behind him. It smashed into pieces and the leftover coffee slid down the wall. His hands clenched into fists. A snarl surfaced. Rufus fought to control his anger.

“You’re telling me that you’ve been leading a secret group called the Order of What the Fuck fighting Death Eaters. And you’ve got the nerve to tell me that I wouldn’t have listened?! It would have taken you five bloody minutes! I’ve listened to you longer than that, not that I’ve had much of a choice because you’re the fucking Head Auror,” he seethed. Moody was looking more punchable by the second. “And what the fuck am I supposed to do with this information, huh? You expect me to turn my back while you and the merry band of whatever the hell you call yourselves commit acts of vigilantism? Or are you going to have to kill me? That’s it huh. That’s why you’ve sealed this room. Finally want to get rid of me, yeah? Well come on!” He put his fists up, ready to fight.

Thick arms crossed over his chest, leaning back against the counter his mug was on. Rufus’ anger only increased as his words unleashed. If the situation they were in right now wasn’t so dire, he’d probably laugh. “Yeah, Rufus. I’m going to Avada Kedavra your ass, that’s why I bothered explaining this shit to you.” He rolled his eyes, “I didn’t mean you won’t listen here” he motioned towards his ear, “I meant you won’t listen here.” The same hand jabbed a finger towards his temple, not quite reaching it. “I’m not against the Ministry, we’ve done some fine work during our time here. But there are too many rules, and frankly, too many spies within the ranks for it to be trusted. 

Hell, if they could have gotten away with bringing Minchum on board, they would- but the guy needed to remain neutral territory through all of this. “You’re too hot headed, and that’s always been your problem, bud. I wanted to tell you, to bring you in. Not to kill you. You’re many things, Scrimgeour- but a two faced bastard is not one of them. I can take my opinions of you to the bank and come out a winner. You’re one of us, on the right side of a losing battle and we need more like you to join the Order. If only you’d pull your fucking head out of your ass long enough to let me show you.”

The way that Tonks had addressed Moody as boss only added to the growing list of things that weren’t adding up. On their own, each thing wouldn’t have bothered Rufus, but together, they were an unscratchable itch. He watched while the healer carted away Caradoc down the hall. Looking over at the man beside him, he was about to open his mouth and give him a piece of his mind, but he saw the wet eyes and heartbroken expression. While he wanted answers, he wasn’t keen on kicking a dog when it was down.

The only thing he could think to do was leave Moody alone for a few minutes. It was what Rufus would have wanted if he were in a similar situation. So, he headed for a short walk through the department. The sterile smell making his nose scrunch; he hated hospitals. As he wandered around, he saw a table with a coffee pot and mugs. Without thinking, he walked over and poured two cups of coffee before heading back to where Moody was.

“Here. They didn’t have milk.” He offered him a mug. When Moody took it, Rufus found a chair and sat down. The coffee was bitter but it was a welcome kick to an otherwise strange morning. He needed to be tactful, and so he reigned in his frustration. His voice was calm, almost casual. “Some morning, aye? Can’t say I’ve ever had a missing person delivered to the front door before. Something about all this though.” He ran his hand over his beard as he looked out ahead of him, staring at nothing in particular. “Can’t help wondering why Caradoc turns up after months. Why you appear to be affected so much by it. Why you asked for only Edward Tonks, and no other healer here. And why he called you boss.” Finally, he cast an expectant gaze at Moody. He’d been dragged into this, for better or for worse; he deserved some bloody answers.

Rufus had taken one sideways glance at the Auror, and promptly left. Normally, one would be offended at the absence but Alastor was grateful. Rufus knew he needed space, and the brief reprieve to process his emotions was sorely needed. Wearing tracks into the linoleum floor, the nurses kept a wide girth, leaving him to his mind as he fought to wrangle his emotions under some kind of control. 

By the time Rufus returned, he was able to string at least one coherent thought together- which was progress. The steaming hot mug was handed to the Auror with a grim expression. He took it gratefully, wrapping his hands around the cheap ceramic. It filled him with a sense of warmth, the smell of the coffee filling his mind, waking him up somewhat. It didn’t matter that the dark liquid would taste terrible, he needed something-anything to distract him from the brother currently being wheeled into Trauma.

Rufus opened his mouth, starting with vague commentary before stepping into more sensitive territory. He knew what the guy wanted. The truth was something he’d been trying to avoid for a decade now. Not because he hadn’t wanted Rufus to know. Quite the opposite, but the guy was far too hot headed to listen to the other Auror, especially since his promotion. One he hadn’t asked for, by the way. But they’d worked the Hogsmeade case together and had done so incredibly well, and it seemed fate had wanted this conversation to occur- because he couldn’t hide behind anonymity any longer. Not after this mornings events or his reactions to it all.

She liked the feeling of his eyes on her. It created a physical awareness in her body that got even worse? better? when he finally touched her.

Amelia laughed out loud as he pulled her closer, the sound getting caught by his lips. She leaned into him willingly and nodded.

Home. She liked the word coming from him, and what it meant. She enjoyed going home with him more than she cared to admit, more than she should, and sometimes it scared the living daylight out of her. But when she was with him, it was only ever an excited thrill that went through her, and a feeling of content happiness.

This Floo connection was very convenient. It was far more private, and, she would hope, secure than the normal channels. Of course, professionally, it meant him being able to get into the office faster, which was sometimes a necessity. For now, it was just rather nice. No extra steps, just follow him through the fire–an apt metaphor sometimes–and they were home.

“Wine, please,” she said, not bothering to think about it. She might have some tea before bed, but the end of a long day required a glass of wine.  

She stepped neatly out of her heels, instantly shrinking a few inches. She stacked them neatly next to his boots at the door, and hung her cloak up before following him further into the flat.

Amelia inhaled deeply, relishing in the smell that was absolutely his.

“How did it go today?” she asked, leaning against the counter. “After the press conference?”

He smiled at her immediate response. That was his girl, ever decisive in the spur of the moment. He watched as the shoes were taken off and placed beside his own, so much smaller in comparison. “You got it, baby.” 

He stalked over to the kitchen, pulling out a wine glass for her and a whisky glass for himself before moving towards the drink cart. Crimson red and deep amber liquids filled their respective containers before he rejoined Amelia.

“Hungry?” He asked, suddenly feeling the weight of the day sagging his shoulders. The fire in the mantle they’d just stepped through shifted from green to gold, his mind closing off the channel and letting the warmth fill the room.

It took everything Alastor had not to roll his eyes at Evan’s little act. The boy was good, he had to give him that. The problem was, Sirius had been a part of Alastor’s life for long enough now that he knew better, he saw through it all. He knew the rattled expression he wore whenever he parted ways with any of his Kin. Was reminded of it again the other night, during the Wizarding Statute. These weren’t good people, and Druella… well, he had select words to say about her. Alastor focused instead on the drink in hand, keeping his expression as open and neutral as a stranger talking to a snake charmer. 

He cocked a brow, wondering if Evan’s choice words were a threat or not. He knew damn well how to guide Sirius, had been doing it far longer and far more efficiently than his family ever had. If only he’d gotten to Regulus in time, perhaps the boys could have had a very different life. He feigned confusion as Evan turned his head. “What do you mean?” Experience some of what… the Blacks as enemies? Highly unlikely. “Has something happened, Rosier?” His deep baritone feigned care, but frankly… he just wanted to know what the hell the guy was playing at.

In all honesty, it didn’t matter a great deal if Alastor believed him or not, he had no evidence to call him on it and the word of a young Auror with a temper (a well-known temper as gossip spread) against someone with his reputation would only end in Sirius’ downfall and the downfall of those who sided with him. Evan held all the cards and he planned on keeping the affair that way. “It’s, well it’s rather a long story,” he began, turning away slightly, looking down into his drink, “I’m beginning a charitable affair. It’s recent but several ministry contacts are on board, even the minister himself.”  

“No, Professor,” murmured a small, shaky voice. “Thank you.”

A rare, soft smile crossed her lips. Minerva brushed the girl’s hair back from her brow, before catching herself, nodding, and easing off of the edge of the bed. “If I catch wind that you were out of your bed again, you’ll get detention for a week. Understood?”

The girl nodded sharply, bringing her covers up to her nose as she stared up at her with round eyes. Voice muffled by the comforter, she squeaked, “Yes, Professor.”

She didn’t soften the steel in her expression. Not as she bade the girl goodnight, as well as the others who’d been pretending to sleep. The door shut soundlessly behind her, and Minerva strode her way out of the girl’s dormitory, back toward her own quarters. Each step made her heart feel heavier than the last, and she wondered if she’d be dragging it behind her by the time she got to her door.

Tightening the belt of her robe, Minerva recalled the crying mess young Miss Karalis had been when she’d retrieved her from the bathroom. The Gryffindor first year was muggle born and scared for her family, unable to sleep after a day of her mind warping the Prophet’s news and imagining her family in the articles. She had taken the girl to the kitchens for tea and secret biscuits, had told her how it was alright to be afraid, that facing it was what made her brave. She had helped Miss Karalis draft a letter to her parents, then had let the girl use her owl to send it. By then her tears had dried and she’d stopped shaking, so Minerva had seen her to bed.

Her exhale was heavy when she reached her door. One hand on the handle, the other rubbing at her neck, Minerva re-entered the firelit quiet of her chambers pausing not a step into the space when she spotted the massive shadow occupying her armchair. The smile that surfaced was soft as she considered him, gently shutting the door behind her, hoping the soft thump and thunk of it closing and locking didn’t stir her shadow from his rest.

It was incredible how he made everything around him seem so small. The chair he was occupying, the one she curled up in to read by the fire, was high backed with large curling arm rests, velvety and thickly cushioned. When she sat in it it felt like a throne. It was a miniature with Alastor slumped on its cushions, as was the rest of her small chambers, the kitchenette and bed that occupied the rest of the space. Even sleeping, he dominated the room and so much more if the tightness in her chest had any say.

Leaving her slippers at the door, Minerva crossed the chambers on silent feet. She stopped in front of the armchair, knelt beside it. The sides of her robe split to either side of her as she placed on hand on the chair’s curling armrest, and reached with the other for his crossed arms. “Alastor,” she said quietly before touching him. Minerva knew he had nightmares, had woken up to them enough to know the risk of startling him awake. Her touch was soft, her grip reassuring, she stared up the line of Alastor’s body to his face, waiting for his eyes to part so that she could feel the weight of his umber gaze staring back at her. On a gentle murmur, she commanded, “Come to bed,” and tenderly squeezed his arm, as if she would tug him out of the chair herself.

He saw her in his dreams. The vision of an angel with a voice like honey, speaking his name as if God himself was smiling down upon him. It took a few moments to realize that it wasn’t a dream, that she had returned to him. Cracking a lid, he peeked out beyond the chair and that’s when he saw her. Truly saw her. Knelt on the ground beside him, gently coaxing the Auror awake. She knew how to get to him, the best way to approach a sleeping bear wasn’t to prod it violently. 

He absolutely hated that she was on her knees, however. For any reason other than working his cock was simply unacceptable. “Sorry baby, didn’t mean to fall asleep.” He mumbled sluggishly, as the lights slowly began to flick on in his head. Her gentle tugging was enough for him to uncross a heavy body and pull himself from the chair. A moment later, he’d lifted her up with him. Holding her against his chest, curled up in a petite little ball, the Auror pressed a kiss to her lips, then her forehead as he walked them both over there. 

The bed was nothing like the bunks found in the students quarters. A king size, four poster. He placed her down on one side, pulling the covers up over that perfect body as he walked around the bed. Kicking the bulk of his clothes off on the way, until he was stripped down to cotton boxers. Slipping under the covers on the other side, a hand snaked it’s way across until it had wound around Minerva and pulled her hard against him.

Rufus was going to suggest one of them apparating to St. Mungo’s and bringing a healer back. Someone with extensive wounds like Caradoc really ought not to be moved. But before he had time to suggest, he felt Moody grab onto his shoulder. And before he could protest, the street was gone and he was being pulled and pushed in all directions until he found himself in St. Mungo’s. He had half a mind to yell at Moody. A quick mental check of himself and Caradoc made him realize that the other Auror had a horseshoe up his arse for not splinching them.

Now he was being told to get a specific person, presumably a skilled healer. He didn’t see why Moody couldn’t just get Edward Tonks himself. Someone’s life was on the line, he had to keep reminding himself to quell his anger from boiling over. “If he’s here, I’ll find him.” Rufus stood up and took a moment to get his bearings. The ward was likely large, and he’d have to find Tonks fast. There was no other option but to run.

Where the hell could Tonks be…he ran through hallways, earning admonishing looks as he passed nurses and healers. He asked a few if they knew where Tonks might be. One had said she’d seen him and pointed in a direction. Rufus followed. All the while, his mind was racing. Why only Tonks? Surely there were plenty of skilled healers, and wouldn’t they also know how to best heal Caradoc? Why this one man? And there was something else that he’d seen in Moody’s behaviour. There was something going on.

He finally found Tonks, and surprisingly, it hardly took any effort beyond mentioning Moody and Caradoc in the same sentence to get the healer running back with him. They returned to where Moody and Caradoc were. While Rufus was catching his breath, he watched as Tonks set to work with what he assumed to be a preliminary check to try to determine what condition Caradoc was in. He kept his eye on Moody too, keen to pick up on anything and everything the man was doing that might give something away to make sense of what was happening.

“We should probably get to our case, Moody. I’m sure Caradoc’s in good hands.” It wouldn’t surprise him if Moody didn’t reply or said something about having to stay and wait, which would prove his hunch about something else going on. Frankly, he didn’t care if they got to their case. It would be easy enough to send a letter to someone, perhaps Amelia, to assign the case to other Aurors.

He knew Rufus was bristling about the barked out orders but frankly, Moody couldn’t give a shit. He’d deal with it later, right now he had bigger concerns. To the other Auror’s credit, he didn’t argue. Instead, he beat feet down the hall in search of Ted. Two nurses rushed to the Head Auror’s side, getting Doc onto a Gurney stat.

His eyes raked over the body of the blonde laying before him. Taking stock of the wounds... frankly, he didn’t know where the hell to start first. The guy was basically dead. He shouldn’t have a pulse, it didn’t make any sense. His hand hadn’t left the other’s forearm, a fact that had been lost on him until that moment. He couldn’t bring himself to step away, not now, not as Rufus and Ted arrived by his side. 

He needed to find Caradoc, that had been top of the list for the last two months, along with the other missing Order members... but he hadn’t found him. No, he was a body dump at the Ministry, a message to Alastor, to the Order... A very, very public one. That was likely the only reason he was still alive. He choked on a sob as Ted took over. Moments later, Alastor had filled them in on the very little that they knew. 

“No... Forget the case. I’ll send an owl to Amelia soon.” And Edgar, he had to do one to Edgar as well... God, Caradoc... The Auror didn’t even look up at the other as he spoke, he couldn’t bring himself to tear his eyes away from the messed up blonde. He watched as Ted started his preliminary assessment, watched still as the colour drained from the Auror’s face. “I need to take him away, Boss.” 

Ever since that horrible night - the horrific, mutilated bodies in the woods - Rufus had done quite a lot of thinking about something the older Auror had said to him, I didn’t trust anyone else to work this one with me. It confused the hell out of him, and working the case wasn’t a fucking nightmare like he would have imagined. The only two things that he could think of was that he’d read Moody completely wrong or the man was being a manipulative son of a bitch. Neither things fit perfectly with his mental model of the whole situation. And now Moody wanted to work another case with him. It didn’t make sense to him, but he went along with it. It wasn’t like he had much of a choice anyway.

Rufus wasn’t a stranger to long days, and this one was already shaping up to be a long one. It was some ungodly hour and the Atrium was completely empty, save for him and Moody. It was kind of nice to walk through without anyone around; there was something almost surreal about it. Occasionally he’d cast a few glances over at Moody just to see if he could get a read on the man, but he couldn’t discern anything. So, he kept his mind focused on the case they were heading to, not saying anything to the other Auror.

As they got to the street level, he noticed something, or rather someone crumpled near the entrance. At first, he thought it might have been a vagrant, but on getting closer, it was clear that the man was not so. “Dearborn,” he muttered under his breath. He’d been certain that Caradoc Dearborn was dead, never to be found, since the man had gone missing months ago. Rufus scanned the immediate area to see if there was anyone around, but the street was deserted too. Dropping to a knee, he carefully placed his index and middle finger against the man’s bloodied neck to check for a pulse. “He’s alive,” he said, almost not believing it. The man looked like he’d been through hell and back. Rufus was no nurse or healer, but as far as he was concerned, the various injuries didn’t add up to Caradoc being alive.

Rufus hadn’t been his first choice, but frankly- he didn’t hate the guy. He never had, really. The issues between them had been those of Rufus’ own making, seeing a competition that was never really there. He’d always wanted to bring the stubborn old bastard in on his plans but could never quite get him to calm down long enough to see reason, to see the forest through the trees. No, he’d always been planted firmly in front of the first tree he’d come across, yelling blindly at it, never quite realizing there was a whole world behind it. But with most of his operatives away he needed someone he could turn to, and for all of the hot headed Auror’s faults- Alastor had always been able to trust him to do the right thing. It was where the anger stemmed from, after all.

Which is why the pair were headed out of the Ministry at such an ungodly hour. They’d caught a new case and were leaving to investigate. He knew something was wrong the second they hit street level, Rufus stiffened, eyes cast towards a lump of a figure on the ground a few feet away. Rufus got there first, investigating the dark mass, hardly illuminated by the slowly creeping sun. At first, he thought he’d misheard Scrimgeour... but then he joined Rufus, and that’s when he saw it. The tattoo- or sleeve, if you will, that covered his arm. It was definitely Caradoc but frankly- he wasn’t sure there was any other way to identify him just by pure sight. “My god...” Sinking to his knees, he reached out for his old friend- the hot sting of tears like a toxic burn behind welling eyes. “What did they do to you, son?”