With each word for Mulciber's mouth Gus' eyebrows rose a bit more until finally, when the Death Eater offered active help, they rose so high that they threatened to vanish behind his bangs. And the Mulciber offered active help (even if he still insisted on that awful nickname "Augie". He felt like a bloody pet being addressed like that. Mulciber's damn mascot).
Gus' jaw dropped. Active help. Getting his hands dirty on behalf of helping other people. That was unheard of from Death Eaters – especially if those people in need of help weren't part of their circle of privilege. Gus struggled to keep a professional expression on his face but failed miserably. His lips stretched into a wide smile even as he still shook his head in disbelief.
"Pinch me," Gus said, the realized that he had said it out loud. "I mean, help would be very much appreciated. Every bit helps, really." He ran a hand through his hair and tried to make a mental plan of what was needed to be done. Making copies of all the patients' charts was going to require a lot of time and a part of Gus was curiously reluctant to send patients away even if they were strong enough to yell at each other. Being able to yell didn't mean that they weren't infectious anymore or that all their bones were mended. Who knew if they would heed the Healers' advice once out of sight? Sending people away felt...wrong. And yet it didn't look as if they had much of a choice. Gus sighed, then realized he'd been frozen in stunned silence for too long.
"I'm sorry, I just didn't expect an offer for help. I'm really very grateful." And he truly was. If Mulciber hadn't been a Death Eater who was most likely capable of disembowelling Gus with a mere flick of his wand, the young Healer would have hugged the man. Help was heaven-sent right now.
"Now for the supplies, I already contacted sent out three memos but they got lost along the way, so I contacted the administration myself." And almost wet himself with fear when Dolohov responded personally. There were moments Gus seriously asked himself what was wrong with Gryffindors and the like who could defy Death Eaters face-on like that.
"We have a couple of matrons in the waiting room, already doing a preliminary division of the patients but of course your help would be immense if you were to support them. Next to that you mentioned two girls you brought along?" Gus forced himself not to think about where Mulciber had brought the girls from. Slaves, most likely. A chill ran down his spine. He needed the help but...slaves? Another bit of wrong added to the ever growing pile of wrongness Gus was forced to work with. He cleared his throat uncomfortably.
"Perhaps one of them can do the copies for you while the other one works on the wards?" Gus shuddered again. Here he was, distributing work to slaves without even inquiring about their names, absorbed only in the immense task of keeping as many people alive as he could. And yet. He didn't like the kinds of compromises he was forced to do.