Getting back to work was unusual, but not unpleasant. Unlike the other day, when he attended a meeting with the Minister (and when he was still technically unemployed), Rosier made and effort to look presentable. The elegant black robes were back and thankfully he did not resemble a muggle tourist any longer. Sure, the sunburn was still here, but he decided we wasn't too bothered. The golden Level Two pin he used to wear was now replaced with a silver, unique one - the pin which distinguished the Senior Undersecretary from everybody else. It was a strange feeling, taking this role after everything that had happened and Rosier knew he wasn't the only one thinking that.

As he walked through the Atrium many people stared at him and his new, shiny badge, however he had no time or intention to stop and chat. People were curious though and he still hadn't made an official statement for the Prophet, but the press and gossip were not exactly on his mind right now.

Instead of going straight to Level One where he now worked, Rosier continued down his old route (maybe feeling a bit nostalgic already) and paying a visit to the Law Enforcement. It was even stranger passing through the Auror Headquarters; he knew all eyes were on him and he knew most them wondered what happened to their strange, former boss - the one who cared about his job so much, the one who kept on telling them work comes first and life comes second. He also couldn't help but wonder how much of his Moroccan story Trevelyan managed to spread around in twenty-four hours.

He continued straight to Raynor's office this time though. Usually, the two avoided each other, they preferred to work without getting in each other's way too much. Raynor's style was different from his, everybody knew that - however he respected her as an Auror and as their leader. She might have been many things, bus she wasn't incompetent which was something Rosier couldn't honestly say about many people around here these days. Today, Rosier wasn't in the mood to argue with Tamis Raynor though, no matter how entertaining that activity could be.

He knocked twice, then let himself in without waiting for an invitation. "Morning Tamis," said the tall wizard casually as he entered the office. "Bet you missed me!"

There were not many transgressions in the Ministry of Magic that caught the Head of the Auror Office unawares.  It was an essential doctrine of surviving the Ministry of Magic as long as the immensely petite woman had. One wizarding war. Four overturns in direct leadership within the last year alone – including one murder and two disappearances. Several of those times, she had stepped in as Acting authority. She would not say the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had survived gracefully, but it had survived. Even with multiple terrorist attacks singling out its members.

Raynor was not a politician, nor would she ever be. She never quite mastered beating around the bush. But she knew how to dance with them. How to manipulate. And where to listen.  So when Cameron Rosier burst through the open door of her personal office at the rear of the Auror Headquarters, she was not in the least surprised.

Though, she would have had to been Bertha Jorkins[1] to have missed that memo.

Her jaw tightened. The only acknowledgement he received for several moments. Letting him loom over her. They all loomed. She had never quite been able to find the fine print that dictated all men in Magical Law Enforcement must be half-giant. Perhaps it was scribed in gender-encoded invisible ink.

Practiced patience kept her from cringing at the informality of which he addressed her. There were very few individuals Raynor allowed to greet her by first name. Cameron Rosier was not among them. The man made it a point that he did not care.

And despite the rapt attention she maintained on the organized chaos across her desk, chin tilted away from him in disinterest as her eyes followed the words beneath her lids, he was still standing there. Finally, she took a defeated breath.

Sharp grey eyes regarded him briefly, the way someone might glance up at a fly that buzzed too close, but was not worth the effort to try and swat. The quill never stopped scratching.

“Rosier,” she signed the document with an overly exaggerated flourish. “You are looking remarkably tan.”

She had caught enough details of where he had been. Enough for the investigator in her to know those details did not add up. Not that mattered. He could have single-handed facilitated Wizarding Wold Peace. She still would have remained unimpressed. The fact that he had left her and the Department high and dry was naturally entirely irrelevant to her unimpressed demeanor.

Which he would know.  The man could be crass, but he never annoyed her without purpose.

1.	Canon Character Reference

Rosier was slowly realizing that his mood slightly improved since he returned from Morocco. On a normal day if he had to deal with Raynor mocking his severely sun-burnt face, he would probably just frown at her unpleasantly and try to think of something much ruder in return. Today he merely smirked (which looked equally unpleasant because his face resembled a lobster) and took his time to walk over to her desk. He noticed how it was slightly disorganized - it was still much neater than his work-space, but it had potential.

She said nothing else though and just kept on staring at him menacingly, so he remained standing knowing it would probably annoy her. His light blue eyes met hers, but it wasn't the usual stern look he gave to his subordinates when he was disappointed, it was more a sort of an unreadable seriousness. In fact that was the closest thing to an apology for leaving the Department she was probably going to get from him. As much as the Minister managed to make him feel guilty the other day, Rosier now felt fine - in fact he almost felt like he had something to live for. But then he blinked. "Don't be so grumpy, dear," he said not even realizing how ridiculous that sounded - he was most likely the grumpiest wizard in existence.

"I mean, you always kept on saying how you could manage all this--" there he kind of waved his arms in a way only politicians did, adding a small but dramatic enough pause, "-without me! There is no need to be upset then, right?" He didn't say that cruelly though, it was all said with that same small smirk in a friendly tone. But he didn't come here to be mean, he just couldn't resist this now when she was obviously so annoyed. And Rosier was notorious for deliberately angering people who were already deeply annoyed with him, especially if they were women. Then, knowing how much he hated it, he put a cigarette in his mouth and lit it.

A single eyebrow rose, giving the (still) looming man her patented ‘really?’ look, usually reserved for her own subordinates after they had committed something incredibly foolish. Such as kneeing a teenage suspect in the family jewels[1].  In lieu of lecturing him on kettles calling teapots black over less-than-pleasant dispositions, she continued to regard him silently.

Since he refused to sit, she refused to stand. Pretending that the angle required to peer up at him was not uncomfortable . Cameron Rosier was no longer in her direct chain of command. She no longer had to play civil – but she could choose so, given the right motivation. He seemed to realize that as well. The moment of seriousness between them was brief as light blue eyes met steely grey. If she had blinked, she would have missed it. As it was, she had been giving the older man her best, unnervingly steady gaze as she could muster.

A long moment passed.

She tilted her head, peering up at her former superior with one critical eye. One side of her mouth compressed with a thoughtful, noncommittal sound in the back of her throat. The most acknowledgement he would get for that excuse of an apology. Not that Tamis Raynor believed in the concept – if the individual was truly ‘sorry’, they would have never committed the action. They were just remorseful of the negative consequences. She did not accept apologies. And rarely gave them.

Realizing she would not be rid of the man until she humored him, Raynor leaned back in her chair with an exhalation of air, parchment temporarily neglected as she waved to the chair in front of her desk.

“What do you want, Rosier?”

Nearly as soon as he lit it, the tip of his cigar snuffed out again with a couple curling wisps of smoke. The Head Auror’s expression was expertly blank, portraying neither innocence nor guilt. Though her hands were pointedly kept away from the vicinity of her wand holstered on her hip.

1.	[Dec 21, 08] Brute Force Breaks Eggs

Since Rosier wasn't very keen on apologizing and Raynor seemed to prefer scowling to talking, this turned into a staring contest. But it didn't matter, he did not intend to verbalize his apology once again, it was painful enough to admit his mistake to the Minister.

Just as he lit the cigarette, she - as if on cue, managed to put it out. The passive expression on her face which she probably considered a 'poker face' told him everything he needed to know. Rosier frowned, pocketed the cigarette and then smiled a bit despite himself. He couldn't help but notice how quick and efficient she was even with non-verbal magic - something he never quite mastered. When it came to wandwork, Rosier was never subtle, everything he did was extremely destructive and oftentimes dangerous for everyone involved (even himself).

He decided he would attempt smoking again in a couple of minutes, when she won't expect it. What did he want? No one had an answer to that question, especially Rosier himself. For now he decided he could attempt playing nice, so he finally sat down.

"I don't know what I want, that's a very difficult question and I'm not sure if I'd like to know the answer," he started, suddenly feeling philosophical. If he couldn't smoke, he could annoy her in different ways. He had no intention to re-tell his story about Morocco to her, but she needed to know certain things in order for this to work. If they were sending someone to that wretched country he would be happier if they had Raynor's support. "What I need," he continued in the same manner, "is your help." Rosier didn't make a big deal out of this - he made it sound so casual, as if the asked Tamis Raynor for help on a daily basis.

"There are some things in Morocco worthy of investigation...Not sure how familiar you are with the Corpus Inversus case." He said nothing else for now, wanting to see her reaction first, hoping she won't start firing curses in his direction. He guessed his face looked terrible enough already, without the effects of Raynor's signature curse across it.

It was excessively difficult to take Cameron Rosier seriously when her gaze kept wanting to trail distractedly to a patch of skin peeling on the bridge of his nose.  Well disciplined, her grey eyes instead remained focused on the rest of his (equally cooked) visage. And that was, perhaps, the most startling difference between the witch and wizard. Rosier was like brewing a draught of the Living Death; powerful, volatile, and with a tendency to explode dramatically and unexpectantly when one got it wrong. Raynor, despite her pureblood origins, was as rawly powerful as she was tall.  Clever skill and efficiency were her hallmarks.

Perhaps that was how they were able to tolerate one another. They were a balance.

Did not mean either of them had to particularly like it.

When he claimed his seat and slipped his cigar away without comment it was a more effective peace-offering than his not-apology had been. The Head Auror sat a little further back in her seat, even abandoned her quill besides the current roll of parchment; offering him more of her undivided attention.

A small smirk threatened to tug one side of her mouth at his philosophical quip -- and then immediately turned in a wary frown when he requested her assistance. It was the nonchalance that alarmed her. The corners of her eyes twitched again, but they remained steady on him; still listening.

"A rash of vulgar murders facilitated with dark magic. One of which was a Wizengamot Elder. All discovered in tourist frequented muggle locations,"  -- the brief pursing of her lips was telling of how she felt about that. Those had not been pleasant conversations with one Edwin Glass. "Under investigation by my Office since early last August by some of my best Aurors." A small quirk of her eyebrow, and then, dryly, "I may have heard of it."

She also knew about a spunky little blonde cursebreaker that was running around in tangent to the investigation and its recent political complications with the Goblins. It was not every day the Gringotts businessmen graced the Minister of Magic's presence. And there were not many transgressions in the Ministry of Magic that caught the Head Auror unawares. She only knew the meeting had happened, not the particulars. But it was not hard to invent the possible scenarios.

Raynor was studying the man more closely now. She had not hexed him yet and she had long lost interest in prioritizing the arrest warrants on her desk. There were still those details about his disappearance and reappearance that simply had not added up.