1Forum Block
Stacked With: MC4A (Shipping War; NC; SI(N); StL; ToS; HoSE; FR; T3); Hogwarts
Individual Challenges: Short Jog; Yellow Ribbon; Yellow Ribbon Redux; Gryffindor MC [x3]; Ethnic & Present; Bow Before the Blacks; Golden Times; Cuppa; Flags & Ribbons [x2] (Y x1); Old Shoes (Y); Interesting Times (Y); Shipmas; Two Cakes! (Y); Themes & Things A (Y); Themes & Things B (Y)
Representations: Kingsley Shacklebolt/Sirius Black; Disabled Kingsley
Bonus Challenges: Second Verse (Middle Name)
Tertiary Bonus Challenges: HoSE (Schooner; Sanctuary); FR (Satisfaction; Evolution); T3 (Thimble)
Word count: 1,919
The compass that had appeared on his arm after he turned eighteen pointed unerringly south-west, as it normally did when he was in his cell facing the small, barred window. Sirius half-heartedly glared at it, then went back to staring at the square of dim light and patch of cloudy sky that he could see through the high window. Somewhere in that direction was his soulmate.
Sirius both wanted to sneer and sob. Sneer, because he now thought the entire premise was ridiculous, and sob because what kind of a person would want to be with someone that had helped kill their best friends and was going mad as they rotted in Azkaban Prison? Even if he got out and found whoever the compass was pointing at, what good would it do?
The whole world thought that he had been directly responsible for James' and Lily's deaths. Hell, he thought he was at the very least indirectly responsible for their deaths. He was the one who had suggested Peter as the secret keeper, not knowing that the rat would sell out his friends to the Dark Lord that wanted them dead.
He finally settled on a scowl. He was scowling at the memory of Peter saying he'd be honoured to be the Potter's secret keeper, scowling at the compass needle pointing to a person that would surely no longer want Sirius, scowling at the dark sky above that was almost never bright due to the dementors.
A prison guard stopped outside his cell and gestured for him to get up. Sirius heaved a sigh but did as he was told. It was time for the bi-weekly outing to the small courtyard one of the Ministry lackeys had insisted Azkaban have. Ostensibly it was to allow the prisoners a chance to soak up some sunlight, get some exercise, along with some socialisation.
In reality, there was no sunlight to be soaked up and everyone was too drained from the dementors to exercise. The socialisation part worked a little bit though; there were groups who split off to brag about their crimes, groups that protested their innocence to each other, and groups that indulged in the only creative outlet they had apart from marking their cell walls—those were the ones Sirius hung out with.
His eyes caught the compass needle that had swung about to correct itself as he moved and a thought occurred to him. Upon arriving at the courtyard, he approached Harley and sat down opposite her. She grinned at him.
"What can I do for you, Mister Black?" she asked, slightly teasing.
He held out his arm and gestured to the compass. "I want you to cover this up. I'm not going to need it."
To her credit, she didn't refuse or protest that to hide the soulmate compass was sacrilegious. She merely nodded, examined the area, and then asked him what he wanted her to cover it up with. He, in turn, only hesitated slightly before replying that a stag, a lily flower, and a full moon would work. Those were the people that meant the most to him, not his soulmate.
Kingsley laughed at the shocked expression of one of the new Auror recruits. The kid had just shot a tickling hex at him and he had blocked it with his right arm—the arm that, unbeknownst to the kid, was a prosthetic. He quickly cast a disarming spell at June and their wand flew out of their hand.
From the sidelines, Alastor said, "Know your enemy, kid. Shacklebolt's arm is as real as my leg and eye."
June stared at the limb in shock. "How—" they cut themselves off quickly, realising that it might not be the best question to ask. Starting again, they instead asked, "How do I find that out in a battle? And how do I combat it effectively?"
Kingsley mouthed the words as Alastor said them. "Constant vigilance, that's how." He moved off the training mat to get a drink of water as Alastor continued. "And not all limbs are covered in protective charms like Shacklebolt's here. That's just him being a paranoid bastard."
"Who are you calling paranoid, old man?" Kingsley asked. "You're the one with the eye that sees everything."
"I've lost more body bits than you, boy," Alastor retorted. "I have a reason to be paranoid."
"I'll be sure to let your neighbours know when they call in about another warzone happening at your house."
June was looking between them with a mixture of horror and fascination now—in awe of the Auror who joked with the famous Mad-Eye Moody and slightly terrified for him.
"Ach, you've scared the kid now," Alastor said when he noticed.
Kingsley grinned, returning to the mat. "I think that was you. Ready?"
At June's nod and Alastor resetting the timer, Kingsley launched into another duel with the recruit. June was one of the newer recruits, still terrified of Alastor Moody (not that many Aurors weren't at least slightly terrified of him), but excellent at taking a suggestion or new information and adjusting their attack plan.
The timer chimed and both fighters came to a halt. Kingsley grinned at June. "Not bad, kid."
"Now you just need to get good enough to beat this cripple," Alastor added.
Kingsley laughed and sacrificed his water bottle by throwing it at Alastor knowing the older man would destroy it mid-air. "Less crippled than you, old man. You admitted that yourself."
"Get yourselves freshened up," Alastor said, ignoring the comment. "You've both got paperwork waiting for you."
As Kingsley walked from the training room to his desk, he couldn't help but massage the fake limb that was similar to the one it had replaced but still missing a crucial detail. There was no spell to replace a soul compass after it had been lost. At first, he had been glad it was his right arm that had been severed by the cutting curse—it had meant he hadn't lost his dominant hand and could take down his opponent with ease.
He was still mildly grateful that he hadn't lost his dominant hand, he just wished he hadn't lost his soul compass in exchange. When it had first arrived, he'd been too busy with Auror work and Order of the Phoenix business to follow the needle. There was no guarantee that it was pointing to anywhere in London or nearby, for all he knew it could have been pointing to Australia. Then he had lost his arm to a Death Eater during a raid and that had been that.
There was no more knowing if he met his soulmate for Kingsley Shacklebolt unless that soulmate showed him their soul compass. So far, no one had.
Kingsley shrugged away the thoughts as he sat down. There was work to be done and Albus had called a meeting that night. Kingsley just hoped it wouldn't be about Black still being on the run despite the dementors the Ministry had demanded be placed around Hogwarts with no regard for the students that called the castle home for most of the year. He sighed and picked up a quill; paperwork, the bane of every Auror.
Kingsley stared at the man grinning cheekily at the room as a whole and wanted to bash his head against the nearby wall several times. Of course Albus would be harbouring the apparently innocent fugitive in said fugitive's childhood home. And of course said childhood home was now the headquarters of the Order.
Next to him, Kingsley could hear Alastor growl before the older stomped over to Albus to demand an explanation for why the Ministry's most wanted man was currently sitting happily at his own table drinking tea. Kingsley ran his hand through his hair, gave the wall a mournful look, and then sank into a chair at the table—dropping his head into his hands when he was seated.
He heard liquid being poured and then something moved over the table in his direction. He looked up enough to see the steaming cup of tea that Black had slid across to him. The fugitive winked and murmured, "I put a little extra in, you look like you need it."
Kingsley found himself returning the smile that was being directed at him and accepted the cup, cradling it his hand before taking a sip. The alcohol and tea made his shoulders relax slightly—there was almost nothing that tea couldn't cure.
"Why are you here?" he couldn't help but ask now that Black had opened up a conduit for conversation.
Black's grin faded. "I found out where the bastard that betrayed James and Lily was," he said, hands starting to clench into fists. "I wanted to make sure he paid for what he did but he got away."
Kingsley considered the man for a moment. Then he slid over his cup to Black. "There's a little bit extra in it," he explained. "You look like you need it."
"How kind." Black smirked, seeming as though he'd wanted that to be sarcastic and trying to cover the fact that it had come out as surprised and touched. He took a drink and then slid over his own cup to Kingsley. "You can have that one, it's also got extra in it."
He laughed and winked as Kingsley flushed. They sat there together as Order members trickled in, drinking spiked tea with the occasional muttered comment that caused the other to snort in amusement. It was fun, a lot more enjoyable than Kingsley would have assumed sitting at the same table as a fugitive would be.
That night became the foundation for every other time Kingsley appeared at the Order Headquarters. Black was always ready with a witty comment or a cup of tea (spiked or otherwise) and Kingsley found himself actually looking forward to the times he visited headquarters. They were a break from an otherwise grim world where only a few people were preparing for a second war with You-Know-Who and the rest were living in determined ignorance.
Slowly, Black became Sirius and Kingsley started missing him when he was at work. He would hear the man laughing in the back of his head when an unintentional innuendo popped up in conversation, or a sarcastic comeback when a co-worker decided to be particularly idiotic.
Eventually, as was bound to happen, the topic of soul compasses came up. Kingsley had complained about his prosthetic itching one day and Sirius commented that it was good it hadn't been his other arm—the one with the soul compass.
Kingsley smiled grimly and stated, "I'm left-handed." Sirius tried to apologise awkwardly and Kingsley considered letting him continue but eventually decided to stop him. "It's fine, Sirius. I've gotten used to it."
There was silence before Sirius admitted quietly, "I covered mine up."
"Why?" Kingsley asked—not judging or reprimanding, simply curious.
Sirius shrugged. "It's not like whoever it is will want me anyway, what with me being a fugitive and partially responsible for James and Lily being killed."
"I understand." Kingsley covered one of Sirius' hands with his own and smiled at him. "You're an idiot and completely wrong, but I understand."
Sirius chuckled humourlessly before shaking himself lightly and changing the subject. "Say, since we both have no idea who our soulmate is or have any particular desire to search them out, wanna go out?"
Kingsley grinned. "Sure. You bring the alcohol; I'll bring the tea."
"Deal."
