These Working Hands.

Kingsley Shacklebolt, Auror. Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

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18 Rules for Not Getting Caught || Rabastan & Kingsley, 1976

[steadfastlyfromthewoods]

Rabastan was starting to panic. The drugs he’d taken would have kept him calm enough to get through the crowd if it had taken just a couple of minutes, but it was being drawn out and he was more than acutely aware of the throngs of people pressing in on every side. They brushed past him and against him and he jumped more violently every time, trying to get away. He felt nausea pushing bile up his throat, and it was all he could do to swallow it. He’d have given anything to take more of his pills or hell, just shoot something directly in to his bloodstream to calm the frantic pounding of his heart, but he couldn’t, not where the man in front of him could see. The crowd wouldn’t pay him any mind - they never did - but something looking directly at him would be a problem.

He nodded in response to the bow, inclining his head in return. He had grown unaccustomed to the various nonsense pureblood society had pounded in to his head when he was a child - his brother never insisted he follow all the rules of propriety, especially considering he was unfit for the mass populations of such gatherings for long. It was easier for him to stay something of a silent figure at his brother’s elbow until he found an opening in which to slip away. He wished desperately for Rodolphus now - or anyone who could get him out of this, but he was on his own and that didn’t help make matters better.

It was better to be standing against the window of one of the shops where fewer people were bound to go, but there were still so many of them and there was only a foot or two of distance between himself and whoever the other man was. He was wracking his brain, but the drugs made it swim and his anxiety made it falter. It wasn’t a good combination. He nodded and inclined his head again when Kingsley’s name was supplied, the red flag that had been going off in his brain now wholly justified. “Oh yes, that’s right. You were with my brother in school, I believe.” They were the same age anyway, though that didn’t mean they really knew each other. Still, it was something to say.

He wiped his sweaty palms absently on his trousers before shoving his hands back in his pockets. He had a blade folded in one of them and ran his thumb along the handle, feeling a little calmer for touching it. The question was a distraction, but not enough of one. “Oh… meeting a friend,” he said vaguely. It was close enough, though the wizard he’d sold drugs to was barely more than an acquaintance. “You had uh… plenty to do, I take it?” He nodded to the many bags in his hands. He tried to calm his breathing, but he needed to get out of this crowd, and soon. “If you’ve more to do, I should hate to keep you.”

Kingsley nodded slowly in affirmation, voice brimmed with concern. “Yes, that’s right. I was with Rodolphus in school.” He tried to tamp down a little harder on his Auror radar that was buzzing right under the swell of his skull, nipping uncomfortably in the hollows underneath his ears. The man in front of him was still shifty, and if Kingsley didn’t know any better manners he’d follow the lead up, but as it was the Lestranges were a powerful family and he had nothing concrete to prove, well, anything.

“I have had much to do, unfortunately,” Kingsley agreed with a gracious dip of his head and a polite smile in his tone. “In my own shortsightedness I have put off shopping for many days and I am reduced to my own, shall I say, pack mule.” His arms creaked in protest but he lifted a conglomeration of bags with a wry grin to follow, inviting the other in on the small joke. But Rabastan seemed to be no better than at the start of the interaction, and it would be stretching the bounds of the silly little dance purebloods had to play to extend the conversation much further.

Bowing just the right amount, Kingsley let his eyes dart out over the crowd in a seeming search for an escape route back into the river of people. If Rabastan was made uncomfortable by his presence, it would be in their best interests, both, to take his leave. “I fear you're right-- It was a pleasure speaking to you, Rabastan, but I have to find a way to floo home with my extra bulk.” He looked back down to catch the other’s eye to properly end the conversation. “I send my best wishes to your brother, of course.”

[abraxasanatomical]

Spend a Penny for your Thoughts||Kingsley&Abraxas||

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Abraxas smiled politely and nodded, “Narcissa, the youngest. But that was some time ago, Kingsley, what have they got you doing in those little auror cubicles? I don’t like to speak ill of others, but I rather think that Alastor Moody thinks social lives and not Dark Wizards are the enemy.” He chuckled to himself and with no shame whatsoever, they were at urinals after all, began to void his bladder.

He couldnt help but notice that Kingsley was having a little more trouble. “Yes. That was it. She’s a talented seamstress I must say….” Giving a small tsk he smiled wider on the one side of his face. “My how you’ve grown. I remember when you were only so big.” He held his hand at waist level, hoping to draw the younger man’s gaze lower, and to partially explain why his own eyes had wandered below the belt line. “Having a spot of bother, Kingsley?” He looked up, face a perfect imitation of genuine concern.

The sound of Abraxas voiding his bladder almost made Kingsley flinch, but he was a strong man and as such he only squared his shoulders and studied the grout more intensely. As soon as this man was gone, he’d be in peace to use the bathroom, but until then… “As kind as ever, sir. I fear that is more of my own doing than Alastor’s. He is kind to me regarding my hours but I am not so kind to myself. There is always more work to be done, after all, would you not agree?”

When Abraxas leaned over the divide Kingsley did his best not to turn away from him, knowing that if he showed a mite more of weakness than he already was Abraxas would pounce on him. Whether that would figuratively or literally Kingsley could not say, and that unsettled him more than anything. Clearing his throat, he swung his gaze to meet Abraxas squarely, ignoring the other parts of his body in favor of his light colored eyes. “Yes, I do miss her work. I have outgrown the last garment she made for me.” Quietly, the Auror turned back to his wall and merely stood at the tile once more after achieving eye contact, his voice firm and soft. “You are, however, as big as I remember, or perhaps bigger, Lord Malfoy. My mother, I’m sure, would be more than pleased to take your garments under her wing.” With a tense jaw, Kingsley allowed himself to relax and release.

“No bother here, sir.”

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An Over-Indulgence in Anything...||Sirius and Kingsley|| May 20th, 1979

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“Nah, I don’t want to be alone. Not anymore. Sucks living by myself. I reckon I’ll take any roommate who is willing to listen to my music and deal with my messes,” Sirius replied quietly. He hated that he couldn’t rely on someone in the dead of night without sending an owl or getting dressed and apparating. He hated that he had to come home to an empty place, especially on evenings where his emotions were high or after a particularly gruesome battle. It was bad after his kidnapping; he endured so much and the flashbacks and nightmares were painful. Even though he’d stayed with James for a while, it didn’t get better for a long time. Being alone only made it far worse. Though he was stubborn, Sirius was finally ready to admit defeat if only to keep his own sanity at bay.

“Living alone is rubbish, innit? Why don’t you live with your sister, then?” Sirius asked, falling into Kingsley’s embrace. The man’s arms were strong and solid and he smelled sweet, like home (not really his home, but someone else’s; a home he wanted to be a part of, as silly as that sounded). “S’like every bloody noise is a warning. I hate it. I drive myself crazy in here. I swear.”

Kingsley couldn’t help a small snort, and he turned a bit to match up his gaze with Sirius’s. “If you have ever met your friends, I think you would know that they do not ever do things out of any “obligation.” I believe James might even break into hives at the thought.” His voice faded from the small amusement of his words as his tone lowered, eyes tracing the fabric of the couch arm. The other man’s honesty was humbling in a way that drove Kingsley to a more serious tone. “Just because they care for you and care about your situation does not mean they confuse the two.”

“Yes, living by oneself is…” here, there was not a way to say what he felt. His proclivities warred with his training, all of it, years of society and slightly less years of Aurorship, but this was not the time to play stoic, the Auror knew. Sirius deserved the same openness he was giving. Kingsley cleared his throat and sank deeper into the couch, comfortable against the warmth of Sirius. “Well, I imagine there are others who hate it as much as you do. As much as I do.”

“It’s very easy to imagine the threat of each noise when you know what can cause it,” he replied, shifting to make room for the other. “I...she would not want me there. She is, as my mother says, very particular. Every thing has a place, and in every place should be its thing. I am afraid I am relatively clean, but not the way Audra needs me to be.”

[steadfastlyfromthewoods]

Self Para: Re-Experience

That day, It was supposed to be a sunny day. His office windows were not always in sync but this morning they'd displayed the very same bright sun that the rest of the city was being subjected to, the shine of it polishing his desk to an almost becoming glow. But where he tread now, there was none of that light. The old building Kingsley was picking his way through was crumbling, dust floating in currents and eddies though the air. Slight pulls at his shoulder, at his arms, at his hips let the wizard know that the rubble was picking fingers at his robe, the fabric shhhhing along the ground and against the debris. Kingsley tried to force himself to breathe, blinking dust out of his eyes with every step. What was left of the building was still so damn echoey, and combined with the sounds of the rescue forces outside, Kingsley kept hearing vague people noises that were soft enough to be non threatening but clear enough to set his hackles up. The initial attack had been less of a surprise, but the reinforcements had definitively made up in the surprise factor, and the Auror was still in combat mode as he navigated further into the building looking for injured civilians. And there-- A faint cry for help. As a murmured charm cast aside piles of brick and cement, Kingsley stepped forward into the clear path, his shoes leaving clear imprints on the dusty floor. A thoughtless, hurried "I was here" scribbled in the direction of heels even as Kingsley came to a pause, a masked figure lying pinned underneath a large piece of debris. It must've come from the wall; the object winning the hand to hand was a large chunk of debris that was half his height and double that in width, and pieces of metal pipe stuck out tellingly. The wizard pinned underneath the beast of a boulder wailed feebly and with shocky eyes Kingsley's gaze darted into the place where rock became flesh. It was a gory scene, he realized, though he felt that he was watching himself watch the wizard. The man's robes were crumpled at the shoulder and down to his hip where the rock lay on him demandingly, and the dark fabric was shiny sticky shiny with--- It must be blood. It must have been blood, Kingsley could see now, splattered up the debris and onto the column of the man's neck and his jaw. Down onto his other shoulder that wasn't laying crushed by the thing. Kingsley fought down a gag as he heard the man move, shh shhh shhhhing along the ground as he fidgeted and got himself more helplessly pinned, something cracking into a bloodcurdling scream that had no tone behind it. The man must've been screaming for hours. But the man was not a man. He was not a wizard. He was a mask and a traitor, and he would be dealt with-- Kingsley walked up to kneel by the man, eyes carefully avoiding the half of him that was missing, and tilted the other's head back, one large palm soft against the dark of his mask. They held gaze as Kingsley intoned a somber curse to lay him dead and the man screamed, and screamed, and screamed. But he was still screaming; he lay dead on the ground as Kingsley raised his wand and it was all over too soon, he hadn't spit out the full incantation but the man was dead but he was still screaming-- And the little boy Kingsley was facing screamed louder and loudest, fever pitch, and the high note broke the memory and the debris into pieces, his small shaking body quivering with the note like bone china. Hands on his shoulders led him gently away, gently at first and then more firmly as he fought, trying to put hand on the little boy. To save life as apology for almost taking it. "Let me go to him," he said, choking on tears as an arm snaked around his waist and another around the span of his shoulders, "let me go and carry him." And a nice mediwizard sat him down on the side of the cobblestone street. She asked, are you feeling okay, and what is your full name, and you've been in a terrible accident, Mr. Shacklebolt. A bombing. The rocks didn't feel real under his hands and the air felt too clean and piercing in his lungs, burned his trachea. He was shirtless and gauzed up because of healing potions and spells, and the nice nice eyes of the mediwizard as she brushed a hand over his brow and said, sleep now, sir. When he woke up in his bed in St. Mungo's, he called someone to find the boy. The letters never made any sense but the father accepted them with more grace than Kingsley deserved, he knew. He got letters back and photos and, once, a letter from the boy himself. He has a picture of the boy two years and four inches taller, framed in his office. It sits right under the window frame that only gets the weather right once in a blue moon. Kingsley looks at it when he first comes in and when he leaves his office.

[steadfastlyfromthewoods]

What's your sister like?

Audra is...particular. Everything has a place.

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How to Live || Sev & Kingsley || Uni AU

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notlibatiusborage:

Ferrying a few more books from the desk that wasnt his any more, Severus glanced up. “I’ll have to do it at some point. Might as well do it now and let you get moved in.” He hesitated at the next pile of books and quickly picked up one very unscientific magazine featuring a girl who might not have had a lot to do with Chemistry, but was perhaps giving a rather…thorough biology lesson. He hurried to hide the magazine under the books, and then wondered what else he might have left lying about.

Standing by the new pile of books on the dresser he glanced over his shoulder, dark eyes narrowed. “That ‘Mouthful’, Kingsley Shacklebolt , is myname. ” He looked back and straightened the pile of books mutinously, “No nicknames. You can call me Snape or Severus, but that’s all.” He waved an arm at the side of the room he had half colonised and was now withdrawing from. “Wherever. Chemistry.” And then because he hadnt made it awkward enough he suddenly found himself asking sardonically, pre-empting the remark about being a geek or a nerd that surely was going to come, “Sociology..is that a real science or a humanity?” He cleared his throat and turned back to his things, subtly kicking a wad of tissue paper under the bed.

Horrifyingly, he suddenly remembered that there were likely to be a few condoms in the bathroom bin, and possibly a pile of dirty laundry on top of instead of inside the laundry basket…and there was the ashtray on the bathroom window sill. He glanced quickly about the room and tugged the waistband of his sagging flannel pajama bottoms upwards. “Why don’t you start unpacking, I’ll just…go to the toilet.”

He slid into the bathroom and closed the door, shoving the clothes into the laundry basket, running the sink to wash away toothpaste and shaving residue that suddenly looked glaringly obvious. Shit what was he supposed to do with…He picked the ashtray up and closed the toilet lid to stand on it and put the ashtray up on top of the cabinet. Then he turned to the bin. There was a pair of underwear that he had decided not to ever wear again because as comfortable as they were, the crotch was more holes than material, and he quickly gathered the condoms up into it and bundled it up. But now he had a balled up pair of pants full of condoms and condom packets, and nowhere to put it. And no trouser pockets in his pajamas.

Taking a split second decision he tucked them into the side of the pair of pants he was wearing and tried to arrange the shirt to disguise the strange lump on his hip. At least the bathroom now looked presentable. He unlocked the door and returned to the main room, crossing at once to his bed and sitting down.

“So where are you from?” He asked as casually as he could, sure that if Kingsley was distracted, he could shove the evidence into one of the bedside drawers. Along with the hand lotion he had just spotted half tucked under his own pillow.

Kingsley set down his own books with a careful touch, feeling the wood of the desk brush against his knuckles as the books hit home. Moving with a caution he normally reserved for angered parents, Kingsley trained his eyes on Severus’s collarbone and tried to keep his tone as casual and nonchalant as he could as he answered, “My apologies, Severus. I’ll be sure not to make the mistake again.”

An annoyed voice declaring Chemistry left Kingsley scribbling mental notes to never call the other man Sev and to never let the other man find out that was the nickname his mind had been calling the other since he’d heard the name Severus. He also put a footnote concerning the amazing amount of attractive Severus had in his voice while saying Kingsley’s full name firmly and then closed all avenues of thought leading away from that road.

“Sociology is more of a humanity, really. The theories will eat you if you’re not careful but then again, I suppose it’s nothing next to Chem, is it? I’ve only had a couple classes on the subject before uni and it was always a beast.” The edge of the desk made a good perch, non-threatening and safely out of the paler man’s way as he collected his bits and things strewn around the room. The lean arms and shoulders shoving and picking things out of the way, a bit of skin flashing as the waistband of his endearingly large flannel pajama bottoms—Severus mumbled something hurriedly about the toilet and Kingsley shrugged, struggling to look as if he wasn’t just subtly checking the other man out.

It was an opportune time to get everything situated the way he wanted without worrying too much about offending his roommate again, so Kingsley busied himself with the monotony of bending for a book from his bag and setting it in place until the bathroom door swung open. There was a decent line up of textbooks, notebooks, and light reading on his desk for the moment being, and Kingsley turned back to Severus, raising an eyebrow at the suddenly casual tone but following along with no protest, turning his attention to his clothes next as he started unpacking them in piles. Shirts, pants, underwear, socks….

“My parents are actually from Nigeria—well, my dad is from Nigeria, and my mother’s parents are from Nigeria, but she was born in England. So I’m a bit from here and there. How about you?”

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Have you ever had fantasies about someone unexpected? If so, who?

An upperclassman that I ran into once in the hall. 

Woke up in a predicament the following morning, but my mates were nice enough not to tease me savagely. They just took the mickey a little.

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Ever had any hot dreams about Gideon? Can you describe them in detail?

Yes.

In a memorable one, we were laying in bed, in the early morning. It was very hazy but I could feel his body next to mine, and it was pleasant while it lasted.

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Describe the last time you felt true happiness

Years ago, under a dark sky in a dark room.

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Would you like to have children one day?

Perhaps.

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Five things you fear

1. My family suffering. They do not fear it but I do.

2. Losing my morality.

3. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

4. The body count.

5. Myself.

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What do you hope to do after the war?

To make amends with my parents. To...gain back a person I have lost.

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What would you be doing with your life right now if there wasn't a war?

I would be working within the Law Enforcement Squad still. Perhaps a professorship at Hogwarts in Charms in a few years.

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Who in the Order do you think doesn't belong there? Why?

I have answered this before. I do not believe those that are faint of heart belong here. 

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One secret you wish you could tell someone but can't

I often doubt where I am but your stubbornness keeps me strong.

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Are you close with your family? How often do you see them? Do you enjoy those visits?

I do not know if close is the word. They are busy, as am I, we often...miss each other. I enjoy what time I have with them.

[steadfastlyfromthewoods]

If you had to give up one of your senses, which would it be and why?

My sight. I would be able to function as normal with touch and hearing, which are two of the most important things a man can have. The eyes can lie.