Secrets on the Doorstep | Alastor & Rufus
auror-scrimgeour:
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.
Glancing down at the finger jabbed in his face, before looking the other square in the eyes. His grin faded, the seriousness of the situation front and centre on his mug as he stuck a hand out, an olive branch, a vow to respect the other’s wishes. “Deal.”
