ooc: thread rated [m] for possible violence and language.

The dark seemed to suit him.

Hugging the shadows like long lost friends, Cooper Evans trudged through Knockturn Alley, ignoring the cold sleet that fell from the heavens and drenched his hair, matting it to the sides of his head. Dressed entirely in black, the werewolf was nothing but a shiver of darkness, and the fact was appreciated as he tightly curved around a corner, a shocked cat meowing its complaint as it scattered off. There was a dangerous rage and a sense of determination in Coop’s eyes, a sense that was further exemplified by his heavy strides, the swaying of his arms with each step, and his clenched fists. If he’d happened to meet another wandering soul, even in this darkest of places the other would have moved away rather than face the obscure mood of the Auror’s face. He was a man on a mission, and there was no stopping him.

The note had arrived that morning soon after he’d settled down at his cubicle in the Ministry. Folded carefully into the smallest of envelopes, its words had been written in a slanted handwriting he did not recognize: Taras Strelnikov and Aidan Renwick?. For an instant, Cooper had simply stared at the words, letting them sink in. He wasn’t sure what they meant, but after just a few minutes he’d found Strelnikov’s address and decided to pay the stranger a visit that evening, as the note seemed to imply there was a connection.

Currently, his eyes narrowed as he slowed, realizing he was close by to his destination. His fingers curled around his wand, and he itched to pull out his badge –but it had been left at home: he wasn’t here on Auror business tonight. This was personal; it was his own personal quest for revenge. Pulling up to the doorstep, Cooper inhaled deeply before raising his closed fist and slamming it against the door as furiously as he could manage, the sound bouncing against his ears. “Open up, Strelnikov!” He growled loudly, and waited.