Kingsley started throwing out the questions whenever he started getting his feet wet. The day after the election, or the evening of, it dawned on him that they were continuing the work they had started and nothing really changed. As acting Minister, although Pius Thicknesse hadn't really even been there, he'd been a wild card. Technically, according to a handful of documents, the puppet Thicknesse had been "unable to hold the position due to mental health reasons". He hadn't been killed in the Battle of Hogwarts, which Kingsley thought was lucky given what he did even under Voldemort's control. An acting Minister usually came from the Cabinet.
"I should probably feel bad about saying this," Kingsley hedged, and a small part of him did, "but would it be awful if we left him in St. Mungo's and just got on with it?"
"Kingsley," said Patti softly. It was hours after their daughter's birth, and the flood of early morning press conferences had probably ended by now. Patti sighed when the baby latched on and placed a hand on her forehead. "Shit."
"I was simply throwing it out there," said Kingsley, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender to show he really didn't mean anything by it.
"No. Not that. Nurse? Matron?" Patti dropped the Americanism like that, switching to proper English. Or what they called "proper English" here. Kingsley noticed it because he often made fun of it when it slipped through her lips, even though nobody else did. Everyone else on the ward slept, and the matron went though her usual rounds. As there were no laboring mothers at the moment, all was quiet.
"Do you want me to take the baby to the nursery, ma'am?" she offered.
No. She's fine," said Patti.
Patti detached herself from the fussy baby and handed her off to Kingsley, and the matron, raising her eyebrows, helped Patti to her feet. Patti shrugged into a dressing gown and held out her arms for the baby when Kingsley shook his head, clicking his tongue disapprovingly. The matron conjured a baby wrap, a thing over the shoulder, but this didn't work. The fussy baby turned into a problem. Not wanting to wake the others, Kingsley ushered them out of the ward. Penelope, probably knackered from a night of partying after the speeches had died down, was probably at home sleeping it off. As luck would have it, an eager Percy Weasley met them outside the ward.
"Minister. Ma'am." Percy turned his back towards them immediately, awkwardly shielding his eyes from Patti. Kingsley knew he worked on the campaign and often jostled for position with Penelope. He usually lost. "Congratulations on the baby. What's on the agenda for day one?"
"On the agenda?" Kingsley took out his wand and conjured a chair and a light blanket. He forced Patti into it, annoyed with the stunts she pulled lately. "Patti, the baby before the campaign. She comes first. I can't feed her from my breasts, and it's not me she wants."
Patti starting feeding again, sighing when the baby calmed down a few minutes later. Kingsley learned quickly last night when he changed the newborn's nappy that this was going to be a crash course in parenting. Patti, not missing a beat, covered herself with the blanket and asked Percy to face her. Percy took his time, his ears a deep red.
"Mr. Weasley," she said.
"Percy," Kingsley corrected her. Percy wasn't just an aide because Kingsley knew the Weasley family. True, as Percy had been essentially out of the picture until last May, Kingsley didn't know him too well, but Percy was his righthand man for whatever, so they were getting there.
"Percy. I need you to go to my house, please, and get me a set of dress robes: grey, navy blue and black. I want my three pairs of George Isaacs heels, and my black handbag on the coffee table."' Patti reeled this all off like a recipe. Percy simply gaped at her, lost in the girl speak. Kingsley couldn't help smiling. Patti, cottoning on when Percy stood there, frowned and said, "Not you. I need someone else ... someone else ...where's Audrey from New York City? Is she with you?"
"Right here, ma'am," said a nearby voice. Audrey's thick hair was tied back in a clip. Audrey had been with Patti for years back in the States and stuck to her like a Permanent Sticking Charm. Kingsley reached into his pocket and tossed her his keys. "I'll grab a few other things, too. Anything else? How long are you staying here?"
Audrey hadn't been the forerunner in organizing the campaign because politics in the United States were different from here, but she was a force of nature. Kingsley didn't understand the differences in politics because it all went over his head. Audrey, he felt, liked to confuse him. Kingsley asked her to bring the baby things as they were leaving St. Mungo's later that day. He realized too late they had nothing at home for the baby except for a pram and a borrowed bassinet.
He cursed, making Audrey laugh, and clapped a hand on Patti's shoulder. They'd gotten too wrapped up in the race. "We are not good parents."
"The nursery's painted. It's just empty." Her face fell. Patti cleaned up the baby and fixed her clothes after she offered the baby to Audrey. Audrey asked about nappies and a thermometer. "Yeah, the more you talk, babe, the worse I feel. It goes from bad to worse."
Audrey held the baby to her chest, rocking her as she paced back and forth. She asked for a name, and both Kingsley and Patti shook their heads. "Do we at least have a surname?"
Kingsley answered this enthusiastically and raised his hand. Although Percy didn't laugh, the sides of his mouth twitched. "That's mine."
"Baby Shacklebolt. Okay. Get your stuff together, Patti." Audrey, much more familiar with her than Penelope, treated Patti like a cross between a close friend and something of a sister. As she walked away with Percy after handing the sleeping baby off to Kingsley, they heard her say, shaking her head, "The baby ain't got no name."
"The schedule is slammed with conferences and interviews," said Patti, wrapping herself in the blanket. She threw this out before Kingsley said anything. "And Penelope's probably exhausted..."
"Six hours and twenty-three minutes," said Kingsley, checking his watch. "That's how old your baby is, the who doesn't have a name, Patti. What are you going to do? Feed her between speaking engagements?"
"I am not choosing the race over her," said Patti, letting this set in. Her mind immediately went to the campaign because she'd done little else over ten years than run elections and erase scandals. Tears swam in her eyes. "I didn't...I didn't forget her, Kingsley."
"I know that," said Kingsley, kissing her. Once he talked her down, Kingsley went to go chase Audrey and Percy down, the baby wrap feeling like awkward new baggage. He stopped, short of breath, at the lift. He caught them right on time and forced the doors open. They were talking to each other, and Audrey wore a bemused expression when she caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye. "Mr. Shacklebolt, unless you're here to give me the name of that beautiful baby, I don't want to hear it."
"Rachelle Delta," he said breathlessly, pulling the name out of thin air.
Well, they'd already agreed on the second name. Audrey muttered what sounded like "Aurors," and he nodded in agreement, reciting off the military phonetic alphabet as he searched for a drawstring pouch. He tossed it in the air, and Audrey, aghast, caught it with a deft hand. "Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, Delta, Echo ... that sort of thing, you know."
He shifted his weight in the left, hoping he wasn't going to crush his newborn daughter. That would not be good news to take back to her mother. Audrey, still confused, jerked her head, and Kingsley realized he blocked people actually trying to catch a ride. Embarrassed, he stepped aside.
"After giving a few interviews, spend my money and decorate the nursery," he said, nodding when she asked him if she was serious. "You've done those before? Press conferences?"
"How long have I been with Patti Strauss? Good day, Minister," she said, bored, shaking her head as the lift doors clanged shut.
"Yes, that was a stupid question," said Kingsley softly, talking to himself. He headed back towards the maternity ward. Patti wasn't outside anymore because there was an empty chair. He found Patti sitting at the foot of the bed. Spelling the first name out, he gave her the answer for birth certificate. Patti shrugged her shoulders, saying she liked it. "She's pushy. Audrey."
"She's like me. That's what you really want to say. Uh huh." Checking his expression, although Kingsley had no idea what she gathered there, Patti placed Rachelle in the bassinet beside her. "Well, at least, we can go home now. Isn't she lovely?"
Kingsley draped a blanket over Rachelle, tucking her in. He mentioned they'd have to steal supplies from the hospital to take her, and Patti mentioned she hoped their stupidity stayed out of the press. They had a poor track record with this thus far.
Kingsley sat down in his chair, thinking of something to make Patti laugh when she laid down for a nap. "Does she look white to you?"
A passing Healer snorted as Patti took one of her pillows and threw it at him. She missed. They sat there for a while in silence, and Kingsley inevitably thought about his first game plan in office as she nodded off to sleep. When he felt a hand on his shoulder, Kingsley whipped out his wand and pointed it at the young man's throat. It was Draco Malfoy.
"You really shouldn't do that." Kingsley lowered his wand.
Draco backed off, showing him his hands. He probably had no idea the woman sleeping in the bed was also an ex-Auror, though this was indeed a stupid move. Kingsley conjured the chair from the corridor and invited him to sit down.
"How may I help you, Mr. Malfoy?" Kingsley couldn't pretend he hadn't expected this.
"I sent an owl to your home, but you've obviously missed it. I thought you were ignoring me." Draco brought his hands together, and his shifty eyes kept darting towards the door. Kingsley realized the young man was frightened of him. Draco waited, probably weighing his options. It was a plea for his father, he guessed, but he didn't want to sound like a begging man. He bit back a response, not even looking at the baby, and gave his congratulations.
"Thank you," said Kingsley.
In the middle of the Death Eater trials, Kingsley imagined people would be foolish not to seek him out. He'd already met with Stanley Shunpike's relatives and a few others. Whilst he understood and felt even somewhat sympathetic towards some of these families, he committed himself to this duty. What was to stop another leader poking the embers of a dead or dying fire and reigniting its flames? There wasn't enough manpower or structure in the government to survive another hit. Both sides would lose.
"Your name is in the Pure-Blood Directory," said Draco.
It didn't surprise Kingsley that his mind went right there, yet he couldn't blame him either. Kingsley had thought that he'd let the line die out nd extinguish itself. He had initially said that he didn't want children. As he looked at Rachelle, he fell in love, and he couldn't imagine how or why he'd been so against the idea. He'd grown up alone. Whilst he wasn't exactly a lonely child, for he grew up privileged and wanted for nothing, he'd wondered why his name mattered.
Draco nodded at Patti when she rolled over in her sleep. "Is she a witch?"
"Yes," said Kingsley, not elaborating. He guessed Draco, like most young people his age, took like interest in politics. However, when Kingsley gave her name, there was a flicker of recognition across Draco's face. The longer he sat there, the more his walls came down. "You know of her?"
"She gave Scrimgeour's name when he got on the ticket. He ran unopposed, but she helped him get there." Draco smiled when Kingsley raised his eyebrows in surprise. "My father keeps his ear to the ground, and I paid attention in History of Magic. Not that she's in it. She's recent but still relevant. I'm not an idiot, Mr. Shacklebolt."
"No." Kingsley sat up straighter, interested in whatever he had to say. He admitted to himself that he had indeed counted Draco Malfoy out, Harry Potter vouched for him, which kept his name out of the fire, but Lucius Malfoy would answer for his crimes.
"My father's already served his sentence in prison," Draco reminded him. "Whatever happened at the Department of Mysteries is over and done with. He's answered for his crimes. And he's not a rat."
"Mr. Malfoy," said Kingsley quietly.
"And you can't use it against my family because that's like, double jeopardy. I'm not going to be your scapegoat," said Draco, louder and confident. He balled his fist, slamming it on the side of the bassinet and upsetting the baby. Patti stirred, snorted, and rolled over, going back to sleep. "Sorry."
"Not a problem," said Kingsley, picking up Rachelle and walking up and down the ward with her.
Draco, apparently not one to back down, followed at his heels. For an eighteen or nineteen-year-old kid, this young man had a lot of courage. Kingsley had left his wand on the bedside table, not that he wanted to attack Draco, but he bet this young man was quite the duelist. Whilst Harry Potter or Ron Weasley would probably never speak highly of him, they had pointed out some interesting qualities. Kingsley sighed when Rachelle got sick on his dress shirt.
His suit jacket, mercifully spared, hung on the back of his chair.
Draco wrinkled his nose.
"I should've seen that coming," said Kingsley, offering the baby to Draco.
Draco shook his head, stepping away from the baby like it was an activated bomb. Kingsley gave him a reassuring smile and stripped off the shirt when he got back to Patti's bed, revealing a tucked in undershirt. He tossed the dirty dress shirt onto the floor and set the baby in the bassinet for a moment.
"Draco, if your aunt had survived, and frankly, she's probably better off, there would be no sympathy towards her." Kingsley followed Draco now, falling back in step with him. He went with an honest answer. The trials had little to do with public opinion, although the public certainly had a say, but the Wizengamot decided on the trials. Kingsley almost explained the appeal process to him. It really didn't matter. As he had bothered to track him down at the hospital, and he seemed like a nice kid, Kingsley spared him the details. "Lucius Malfoy is not on the list."
Draco frowned at him. He said nothing for about five minutes. "And he can't be added later on?"
"Not for this charge, no," said Kingsley, smiling at him. "You've already pointed out that he can't be charged for the exact same charge twice. You can follow a group and not actively participate in it. I do not know, but I believe that's what your family has done for years. That is not a crime."
Draco got lost in his own thoughts. Kingsley, showing him he was not being snubbed or dismissed, wanted for a passionate defense. Nothing happened. Kingsley had heard the pureblood lectures from people like his grandmother and his great-aunt. His father, an open-minded man tired of the same old arguments, had told Kingsley to choose his own path. Whatever he followed, he'd better be damned well ready to swallow the consequences.
"You and I. We are the same." Kingsley moved one of his fingers. Draco glanced the child, though he really didn't see it. Kingsley didn't blame him. He used to show no interest in children, either. A pampered prince, Kingsley had enjoyed almost unlimited freedom when he grew up. He rested his hand on the railing of Patti's hospital bed. "You know my grandmother's first complaint against her?"
"She's still alive?" Draco asked.
"Old people don't have to filter the closer they get to their graves, and sometimes that is most unfortunate." Kingsley mused, and Draco grinned from ear to ear. Kingsley reached out to clap his hand on Draco's shoulder, yet he decided not to do it. "Come on. It's obvious."
"She's white," guessed Draco.
Kingsley nodded, explaining he'd been engaged to this woman once before. Whilst Kingsley believed in the part about Patti's soul searching, he also felt as though some of the women in his life had driven her away.
"You have your own mind, Draco. Frank and Alice Longbottom, who live here, cannot use their minds because they are trapped inside them. Make a choice." Kingsley sat beside his wife again and listened to the rain outside. "You know what my father used to tell me?"
Draco said no.
"'Blood is thicker than water, Kingsley, but water, the universal solvent, cleans those wounds.'" Kingsley looked at Draco, watching a flicker of something register on his face, or perhaps he'd imagined it.
"What does your father do for a living?" Draco studied something on the sleeve of his robes. As far as Kingsley could tell, his clothes were immaculate.
"He's an alchemist, more of a scientist, really. He prefers modern chemistry whenever he delves into his Muggle studies." Kingsley set the baby down again. "He enjoys reciting the periodic table from memory for fun. Elements. Some metals are elements. Do you know what elements are?"
"Yes, vaguely," said Draco, sounding unsure.
"Substances that cannot be broken down into simpler substances," said Patti drowsily, barely opening her eyes.
"You're eavesdropping, darling," said Kingsley.
"No, you're talking. I'm merely inviting myself into the conversation. And I'm hungry." Patti exchanged introductions with Draco.
"What do you want?" asked Kingsley, checking his watch. Minutes later, house-elves appeared with covered laden trays and distributed them around to the patients. He thanked the house-elf that stopped by Patti's bedside and took off the warming lid. Guessing they cast Heating Charms on these, he set the lid off to the side and announced the spread. "We've got scrambled eggs, tomatoes, sausages, apple slices, yogurt, and toast. And that's mine."
He helped himself to the small cup of applesauce. He gagged, placing it back on the tray. "That's bland."
"Thank you for helping yourself to my food." Patti hadn't eaten in hours. Draco turned to leave, excusing himself, saying he'd come back later. Patti called after him, gesturing to the empty chair with her fork. "What're you doing here?"
"Nothing," said Draco.
"Discussing the Death Eater trials," said Kingsley.
He clung to her honesty rule like a lifesaver. He wasn't really discussing the trials, per se, because there was a lot he couldn't share. Even though his wife may have gotten him into this office, there were things he could not and would not talk about it. He didn't know about her clients, and nor did he openly ask about them.
Patti nodded. Kingsley would be attending the third session of Delores Umbridge's trial tomorrow. They talked about her extensively whenever tell could because Madam Umbridge starred as one of the much abused subjects in one of Patti's soapboxes. Until very recently with the Muggle-born Registration Committee, Kingsley had neither really liked nor disliked Madam Umbridge.
"That woman better burn in hell," said Patti. Kingsley shrugged. "Kingsley, I am Muggle-born. If we were like this last year..."
"...but we're not," Kingsley cut across her. "We are fine."
"If we were here last year," she continued, refusing to be daunted by fear, speaking a little louder. Kingsley considered her politely. He pointed out that this time last year, just last year, she'd been caught between the UK and the States, so technically, she wouldn't have been in any real danger. "You don't think You-Know-Who wouldn't have lengthened his control? I would've been alone in a New York hospital giving birth to a baby whose father could have died."
Draco, feeling severely uncomfortable, excused himself when Patti spilled big tears over an imagined scenario. Kingsley shook his head. He was going to dissect this scenario, taking it apart piece by piece.
"First off, there would be no baby because we wouldn't have been together. And secondly, I was on the run from snatchers when I said Voldemort's name, if you had been here, I would've taken you with me, and you'd have every reason to fret over this baby. If there was a baby." Kingsley got up and kissed her, shutting her up before she had a chance to interrupt him. "Can't you see that's why I insisted you stay in New York? I love you, my American wife."
"I'm not American," she said.
"Your dual citizenship begs to differ," he said, silencing her with another kiss. "And had you been pregnant, and this was last year, I would've damn well have found a way to be there whilst you were running the president's campaign. Because I love you."
"Because you love me," she said, kissing him back. Kingsley didn't say this too often, but when he said it, he meant it. "Even if I gave birth to your American daughter and trapped you in New York?"
"You know I'm kidding whenever I say that, don't you?" Kingsley helped himself to a few bites of her scrambled eggs. If Rachelle had been born on American soil, she, like her mother, would've been American citizens. He, Kingsley, would not have enjoyed the same rights.
She nodded. "Of course."
Kingsley sat back down and shamefully admitted that he'd surrendered all of his gold to her American sidekick. Later that afternoon, they got discharged from the hospital. Patti, who hadn't received her clothes because she wasn't pounding pavement in the last stretch with acceptance speeches, pulled a simple blue dress. She seemed self-conscious about her look, especially the bulge, even though Kingsley reminded her she'd just given birth earlier.
They signed the birth certificate. Patti insisted on walking out because the press and their cameras waited for them outside. Kingsley made quick arrangements and soon there was a driver waiting for them outside. A matron helped Patti with her hair, though she chose to go natural and not use makeup. Around three o'clock, handing her their wrapped bundle, Kingsley placed a hand on the small of her back and they walked outside.
Smiling, shaking like a leaf in the wind against him, Patti waved with Kingsley, a smile plastered on her face as she held their sleeping daughter. Kingsley waved, too, not really sure if he pulled off the relaxed father look. They were the people's people.
As they approached the car, he opened the far side passenger door for Patti. Someone in the crowd shouted something Kingsley didn't hear. A second later, a surge of heat from a hot poker went up his spine. Patti screamed, shielding a crying Rachelle as cries sounded in the gathered crowd. In one fluid movement, doubled over in pain, Kingsley took out his wand and aimed it at a fellow's retreating back as he ran down the pavement. He missed the first time. The second time, Kingsley cast a non-verbal spell and hit his mark. Kingsley faltered, swaying as he fell into the car, barely closing the passenger door as they sped through London.
