Roger listened to Morag spout her defense and he had to wonder if his hands were the only thing really holding her up at the moment. His hands and her indignation. "It matters to you," he whispered gently into her ear. "It doesn't matter to me and it won't matter to thousands of others. Do you think wizards during the first war, or the second for that matter, sat around and tried to understand Voldemort? To get inside his head and justify why he was creating the Death Eaters and trying to destroy muggles and muggleborns and half-bloods? It didn't matter. It just needed to be resolved." There it was. Black or white. The grays did not matter for Roger Davies.
Searching his memory, he nodded at who would be on that team. "Good Obliviators. They'll work it out one way or another." In that instant, he missed his old line of work. He'd never seen himself as a soldier and to find that his path had gone that way was something he mostly just ignored. Roger did his job and moved on to the next task. He didn't take the time to wax poetically about it but why was it here, with Morag in his arms that he wanted to get sentimental?
"Yes, I'll stay," he started, his thumbs rubbing in circles along her lumbar. "I understand that you need me and it's just too difficult to put a voice to that right now for you." There was a smirk both on his face and in his tone but Roger wrapped his arms around Morag's chest, pinning her own arms to her body lightly as he embraced her. In that moment, with his beautiful blonde auror in his arms, everything was perfect.