I own nothing.
Si Vis Pacem, Para Bellum
-Chapter Twenty-Three:
Kingsley stared at the shop in front of him and sighed. "We've been out here for fifteen minutes," his trainee commented.
"I'm aware," Kingsley stated. He continued to stare at the shop. He really didn't want to do this. "Well, you're going to be learning this lesson a lot earlier than most."
"What lesson?" Nymphadora Tonks asked.
"The lesson that you won't be able to avoid some obvious disasters because your boss won't let you."
"Was this guy your training officer?" Tonks asked.
"No. He was the second in command of a SPIE team I was on," Kingsley explained.
"What's spy?" Tonks asked.
"S-P-I-E. Special Purpose Investigation Executive," Kingsley stated.
"I've never heard of that before," Tonks commented.
"It doesn't exist anymore and most people would rather pretend that it never had." Kingsley steeled himself and pushed the door open. "Sal?"
"In the back!" the man's voice rang out, flooding Kingsley's mind with a slew of visceral memories for a moment. He took a deep breath and following the voice through the shelves and found the man behind his counter. Sal looked up and jumped to his feet. "Shack!"
"Sal." Kingsley accepted the smaller man's bear hug with as much dignity as he could.
"How the hell have you been?" Sal demanded as he stepped back. "Did you get taller?"
"No. Maybe you've gotten smaller."
"Maybe," Sal admitted cheerfully. "Who's your friend?"
"This is Nymphadora Tonks," Kingsley stated.
"Call me Tonks," Tonks stated.
"Tonks," Sal repeated. "I know your parents."
"Really?" Tonks asked in confusion. "I don't think they've ever mentioned someone who was quite so. . .memorable before."
"Yeah. A lot of people I know would rather that the people they know don't know that they know me. You know?"
"What?"
"So, what brings you in today, a dragon skin vest for your newbie?"
"Why would I need a dragon skin vest?" Tonks asked.
"You're an auror," Sal said blankly. He glanced at Kingsley as if he was searching for backup.
"Aurors don't wear dragon skin," Tonks stated. "Why would we? It's sweaty and miserable."
"I guess I should cut back on the dragon skin vests and start selling nice flags they can drape over coffins, right Shack?" Sal commented finally.
"The war ended a long time ago," Kingsley stated.
"With half the Death Eaters working in the ministry and a dead dark lord with no body to show for it," Sal countered. "Kind of a weird way to end a war. I always preferred killing enough of your enemies to make the rest of them decide they didn't want to die. That's how the King did it, that's how that bitch Maggie did it annnnnnnnnd it's worked out pretty good so far. I don't recall the Nazis or the Argentinians causing too many problems recently."
"We're getting distracted," Kingsley stated. "We're here to ask you a few questions."
"Ooh, story time," Sal grunted as he levered himself up to sit on his counter. "I've got a lot of stories. I've got a few stories involving you. What stories are you looking for?"
"Tell me about the kids Sal."
"What kids? I get a lot of kids in here," Sal stated.
"I'm amazed you could say that with a straight face," Kingsley commented. "Tell us about Potter and his merry band of mischief makers."
"Don't go getting the wrong idea, Shack," Sal stated. "They're good kids." Kingsley stared at the man for a long moment. Sal just grinned brightly. He had been sweated by far worse.
"See you around Sal. Let's go Tonks." Thankful the young woman fell into step behind him.
"Kingsley." Kingsley hesitated and turned to look at his former commander. "Don't get so into your little peace officer act that you hesitate when things go to hell again. I remember the first time someone put your back up against the wall. You're going to need that again, or you'll die."
"No, I won't," Kingsley stated before walking out of the store.
"What was that?"
"That was everything I needed to know," Kingsley stated.
"How?" Tonks asked in politely as she could.
"He called me a good kid too once," Kingsley stated.
"Okay?"
"He did it after I beat a man so badly that he almost drowned in his own blood," Kingsley answered. He glanced back as Tonks had come to a dead stop.
"But. . .that. . .you," Tonks sputtered her attempt at making a point. "You're the boss's chief investigator. You investigate. You talk to people. You figure everything out. You don't hurt people. Everyone respects you."
"That's who I am now," Kingsley stated. "That's who I wanted to be and so I became that. The war was a long time ago and I was a different person." He glanced at the young woman and tried not to scowl at the awe on her face. Kids. All they saw was the glory in violence and fighting. They didn't see the blood and guts until they were covered in it.
(:ii:)
In the week leading up to the Yule Ball, Harry and his friends spent almost as much time away as they did in the castle. With the stress of the upcoming event, even Minerva had a hard time keeping an eye on them. That was why Harry awoke Christmas morning in one of the rooms Sirius had magically added to his hotel room. He stumbled out of his room eagerly and found his godfather standing in the newly conjured kitchen. The older man looked back and smiled. "Morning. Merry Christmas, Harry."
"Merry Christmas, Sirius," Harry returned, the simple exchange having a profound effect on his wellbeing. A Christmas morning with family.
"You're up early."
"Usually am," Harry stated as he moved to stand beside his godfather and accepted a mug of coffee. "I had to get up early to cook for a lot of years. Now a days, I go back to sleep, sometimes I don't."
"Ah," Sirius replied, staring at the oddly modern stove. "Don't suppose you know any cooking charms, do you?" Harry reached out and turned the dial to turn on the burner. "I knew that."
"Sure," Harry replied as he shouldered the man aside to take stock of the eggs and bacon that had been laid out. He quickly set about making breakfast.
"You look like your mother," Sirius commented after a moment.
"She cooked?" Harry asked, somewhat shocked that the woman had any normal habits.
"She took to the blushing bride, happy housewife and doting mother roles with a vengeance," Sirius answered wistfully. "Personally, I thought it was all to distract us from whatever else she was getting up to."
"That makes sense." A door opened and Sophie appeared.
"I thought I smelled something cooking," she murmured as she sat at the table.
"I thought I'd make food for everyone and Harry came over to help," Sirius stated as he took another mug over to the woman and kissed her. "Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas," Sophie replied, "and I don't believe that for a minute."
"I can cook," Sirius argued.
"Room service and takeout are not cooking," Amalie stated firmly.
"I do something and food appears," Sirius countered. "That's cooking." Harry had to laugh at that one.
"Fair enough," he allowed. "How do you want your eggs?"
"Cooked," Sophie grunted. Harry could hear more doors opening as his friends appeared.
"Scrambled it is." After a few minutes of salutations and cooking, Harry turned to begin serving the food and found himself staring at his friends and family sitting at the table.
"What?" Sirius asked.
"Nothing," Harry stated firmly as he began dishing out bacon, eggs and toast.
"Are you tearing up?" Sirius asked.
"No," Harry stated.
"You are!" Sirius counted. "You big siss. . ." he trailed off as he stared at the wand poking the tip of his nose. "You know, you can't solve all your problems with violence."
"I can solve you," Harry countered.
"But then you wouldn't have your loving godfather," Sirius pointed out.
"I don't need to remove my loving godfather to teach him a lesson," Harry noted calmly. "As Hermione taught us all, you can only kill someone once."
"That is disturbingly obtuse," Sirius commented.
"No shit," Ron grumbled as he covered the bushy-haired witch's mouth. Sophie took the more direct approach and whacked Hermione's knuckles with a spoon.
"Ow!"
"No cackling at Christmas breakfast," the French woman said firmly. "Christmas is special. It is time for family and friends. You can crush your enemies, see them driven before you and listen to the lamentations of their woman every other day of the year."
"Fine," Hermione grumbled with a pout.
"So," Sophie began eagerly, having perked up somewhat, "tonight's the big night."
"Yes," Amalie groaned. The older French woman had found out about Harry and Amalie's "date" almost as soon as they had agreed to it.
"You will of course be having the preparty here, correct?" Sophie pushed.
"Well. . ." Hermione began.
"Correct?" Sophie interrupted.
"Yeah, okay," Hermione said quickly.
"Splendid! We must have pictures, all the pictures, and. . .what are you doing Harry?" Harry put down his flask.
"Regretting."
"Regretting?" Amalie asked, her tone rather fragile.
"Regretting a certain someone found out," Harry corrected as he patted the French witch's hand. He frowned as he considered the older one. "Wait, did you ever tell your family about Sirius?" Amalie's smile of relief became a feral grin.
"I did not," she stated happily, "yet."
"You could just introduce me," Sirius commented. "I can be quite charming. It worked on you."
"Yeah, I need to introduce my boyfriend, the escaped convict, to my ex-National Police commando father and my active-duty auror mother," Sophie growled. "My dog was retired after he lost an eye to a bullet in Africa and has made more parachute jumps than most airborne soldiers."
"I understood about half of that," Sirius admitted, "but you forgot about the whole "wrongfully accused" part of my story."
"Was that ever proved?"
"We're working on that," Sirius interrupted. "We just need one rat."
"Or the body of one," Harry growled. He glanced up at the silence that followed his statement. "What?"
(:ii:)
Harry stepped into the common room and found himself the immediate target of holiday cheer. "Merry Christmas!" Seamus announced. "Especially since you guys weren't here for Christmas eve or morning."
"Shut up Seamus!" Neville Longbottom, of all people, snapped. Harry watched with interest as the Irish wizard flinched.
"Right, just because I didn't see them doesn't mean they weren't here," Seamus replied with a forced laugh. "Who's to say anything different, right?"
"What's the hold up?" Ron demanded.
"Sorry." Harry stepped out of the way and his friends flooded into the room.
"Merry Christmas," Neville commented.
"Merry Christmas," Harry returned as he shook the man's hand. He made his way over to the couch and sat. His friends joined him and he watched curiously as the other Gryffindors ran around the room.
"Decided to get dressed up before us?" Dean asked.
"Didn't have a choice in the matter," Ron grumbled, tugging at the collar of the sky-blue robes Sal had chosen to go with his eye color.
"What does. . ."
"Dean!" Neville snapped.
"Right!" Dean squeaked. "No questions."
"Uh, so, what's with that?" Harry asked.
"Oh, we're trying to be like Neville," Seamus stated. "He has it all figured out, he's the smartest person in this house."
"Excuse you?" Hermione growled.
"Neville has it figured out," Seamus repeated. "When McGonagall comes bursting into the common room, he's the only one that she ignores. We're all trying to get to that point. Eventually, she'll just. . .leave us all alone." Harry buried his head in his hands and let out a groan of annoyance.
"She's still doing that?"
"A little bit," Neville said. "I mean, it's not as common, but it still happens. I think the last time was when you snuck off to Hogsmeade."
"We didn't sneak off!" Ron protested. "We walked there. You guys saw it. It was a Hogsmeade weekend. Nobody said we couldn't go."
"Until she caught up with us anyway," Luna chirped.
"Until then," Ron agreed hesitantly.
"Logic doesn't go as far as you would want it to here," Neville said. "Look, I told you guys: I like you and I don't want to stop being friends, but I kind of need to ignore you so that I can stay out of trouble. When we graduate, I will absolutely hang out with you guys. . .if only to find out whether Hogwarts is the source of your troubles or not."
"Thanks Nev," Harry grumbled.
"No problem," Neville replied cheerfully. Their conversation was interrupted as the Fat Lady appeared in one of the paintings.
"Your date is here, darling."
"Ask him to give me a moment, please," Hermione replied.
"You have a date?" Lavender asked.
"Okay, look," Hermione announced. "I'm going to the ball with Viktor Krum." The common room was silent for a good, long moment. "Please don't make this a big deal. He's actually rather shy."
"Does he know about your issues?" Parvati asked.
"Issues?" Hermione asked blankly.
"You know," Lavender stated. She glanced around, but no one felt like adding anything. "The cackling thing and whatever you're up to."
"What do you mean, cackling thing?" Hermione demanded.
"I think it's about time to get ready," Neville announced. The rest of the Gryffindors fled, even the ones that weren't going to the ball. Hermione rounded on her friends.
"What cackling thing?" Harry, Ron and Amalie shared a glance.
"They're just jealous of how happy you are," Luna said firmly. "You keep being you!"
"Right!" Hermione announced proudly as she turned and strutted towards the portrait door. Harry dug out his flask and took a long pull.
"You know," he began. "One of these days, I'm going to do something so nice to Neville and he is going to know how much his friendship means to me!"
"Try that again, but less threatening," Amalie ordered as she patted his shoulder.
"That wasn't threatening," Harry growled in consternation.
"Hey, heard you talking," Viktor commented as he strolled into the room. "Who are you threatening and what did they do?"
"I wasn't threatening!" Harry insisted. "I was just talking about a friend of mine and how he will know that he is my friend."
"Is this like a euphemism for someone close to you and you know that they're betraying you so you're going to get them first?" Viktor asked.
"No! Neville is awesome and I will teach him how much he means to me!" Harry insisted, unconsciously raising a clenched fist. Amalie just sighed and patted his shoulder again.
(:ii:)
"How's it look, Harry?" Cedric asked.
"Crowded," Harry stated from his position just outside the doors of the Great Hall.
"Mister Potter, if you would please get in line," Minerva growled. Harry eyed her suspiciously and felt rather embarrassed as he was immediately glared into submission. He slunk into position and pulled out his flask. "Really, Mister Potter?"
"Too many people," Harry grumbled. Amalie snatched his flask and took a pull for herself.
"Smart lad," Alastor rumbled.
"That's why I'm here!" Amalie chirped after she finished hacking on her drink, "to curse the ones behind you." Unnoticed by most, Pomona let out a wistful sigh.
"There will be no cursing. Why can't you just be like the rest. . ." Minerva trailed off as she noticed that the rest of the champions and their dates were just as twitchy. "Oh, God. You've infected the rest."
"Oh, yeah, Harry is the one that makes me worried, not the people who told me to fight a dragon," Cedric grumbled. He had been getting into Harry's flask as well.
"Fucking dragons," Fleur growled.
"Five of you play quidditch in front of crowds," Minerva argued in exasperation. "Hell, Krum plays in front of international crowds!"
"You can fly away if there's trouble," Cedric countered
"Not always," Harry grumbled. "The first time a professor tried to kill me, he did it during a quidditch match while I was on my broom." The entryway was silent for a long moment. "What?"
"Quoi?" Fleur managed.
"First time?" Viktor and Cedric asked at the same time.
"I told you guys that I've had professors try to kill me before," Harry stated. He glanced at Hermione, who just shrugged. "Didn't I?"
"I think you may have mentioned it right after the dragons, but I thought you were joking," Viktor said, "and I may have been pounding rakia and forgotten about it until now."
Who. . ." Cedric ventured slowly.
"Quirrell," Harry answered.
"Quivering Quirrell?" Roger Davies, Fleur's date, asked in shock.
"Yeah!" Harry exclaimed. "He jinxed my broom that time. Hermione saved my life by knocking him over while she was setting Snape on f-mph!"
"That's more than enough Harry," Hermione stated firmly. Harry nodded and the witch pulled her hand away from his mouth.
"What happened to him?" Cedric asked. "We were never told anything other than that he was a bad guy and he was gone."
"Oh, I burned him alive with my hands. . .somehow," Harry said as he took a long pull on his flask.
"That is horrifyingly vague," Fleur said, finally breaking her silence.
"I guess the cup knew what it was doing," Alastor commented in approval.
"Except for Viktor, he has no survival instincts," Harry replied after a long pull on his flask,
"I was the second fastest to beat the dragon!" Viktor countered, "and I couldn't even scare a dragon into catatonia. I had to work for it!"
"I worked. . ."
"You're chasing Hermione," Amalie interrupted. The Bulgarian wizard sputtered for a moment as he turned bright red.
"None of you understand a spirited and powerful woman," he grumbled finally, causing Hermione to blush. "It's not her fault she intimidates you."
"I would have gone with scares," Harry grumbled causing the bushy haired woman to punch him in the arm. "Ow."
"If the champions would not mind appearing?" Albus's voice rang out. They all turned to see Minerva with her face buried in her hands. She took a deep, shuddering breath and straightened up.
"Please follow me." Amalie handed back Harry's flask and led him into the great hall by the hand.
"You weren't kidding," Cedric grumbled. "I thought the hall was crowded when it was just students." Harry grunted as he followed along through the cheering crowd. He caught Ron and Luna's eyes and they both nodded. He nodded back before helping Amalie sit and taking his own seat.
"Would everyone relax?" Minerva demanded.
"Fucking dragons," Fleur growled back.
(:ii:)
Kingsley smiled as he watched the champions lead the opening dance. They really weren't bad considering that it seemed a majority of them were noticeably intoxicated. It almost gave him hope, before he remembered the wild parties his team had thrown. A cheerful time where half drank to celebrate what had happened, half drank to forget what had happened and they had all drank to forget what was next.
The dance finished and Potter led his date back to the champions' table where they laughed and did a poor job of hiding the fact that they were both attacking the boy's flask.
Kingsley had spent days trying to decide whether or not he wanted anything to do with Sal's latest proteges. Perhaps, fortunately, his job had not given him an option. He made his way towards the champion's table and whatever came next.
As he approached the last Potter's back, the young man's date caught him. Despite her continuing to regale the young man with some story, Kingsley saw his back tense as he took note of his date's eye.
At an acceptable distance to pretend to look around, the younger man finally turned and stared at Kingsley with cold, calculating eyes, despite his drunken appearance.
"Mister Potter."
"Maybe," Harry stated.
"Almost certainly," Kingsley countered, though he had to admit that the young man's most noticeable trait now blended in with a rather disturbing number of scars etched into his face, mainly around the right side. "I see Sal has been teaching you to keep your right hand up."
"You know Sal, of course," Harry replied.
"On of my former bosses," Kingsley replied. "I'm Auror Shacklebolt. I'm handling the case of who attacked you and your friend."
"I see," Harry replied. His date dragged her chair around to sit next to him and Kingsley pulled an empty chair up to sit across from them. "What can I do for you?"
"I've come to tell you that we caught a woman we believe sent the bubotuber pus," Kingsley said. "She is being tried rather harshly and she is facing down a decade or two at the minimum."
"Why come to me?" Harry asked.
"Why not you?" Kingsley asked. "You were injured in the attack."
"The target was Hermione," Harry stated flatly.
"That has not been definitively proven," Kingsley commented.
"Attacking Harry Potter is much worse than attacking a muggle born, correct?" Potter's date asked. Kingsley picked up and glass of water from the table and took a sip.
"Is it?" Harry pressed.
"It is," Kingsley stated finally, "at least as far as too many people care."
"So, you're using me to go after that woman," Harry said.
"We're using you to guarantee that someone faces the harshest consequences they can for their actions," Kingsley stated. "Actions, I don't feel I need to remind you, that resulted in the injury of yourself and several of you friends." Kingsley sipped his water again and put down the glass. "I don't personally care about full bloods, half-bloods or muggle borns and neither does my boss. I want to force people to face their actions against other people. I want to drag cowards out of their safe anonymity and force them to realize that their actions have consequences. Even though most can't comprehend that they're harming real people even when confronted with the truth, they figure it out when they find out that they will have to suffer too."
"I see," Harry stated. The young man was silent for a long moment before he nodded. "I like when people are honest with me."
"Something we share Mister Potter." Kingsley sipped his water and studied the younger man. "I have to ask, what happened to your forehead?"
"Doesn't everyone know?" Harry asked.
"Cute," Kingsley grunted, eyeing the jagged scar that ran across the student's forehead all the way to his left temple.
"I was elbowed," Harry stated. By who didn't need to be asked.
"Elbowed?" Kingsley wondered. "Why did he hit you with his elbow?"
"It's a part of Muay Thai," Harry explained. Kingsley sighed.
"Marvelous, Sal found a new way to beat people up."
"Harry!" They all twitched as Ludo Bagman crashed to a halt before them.
"Evening Mister. . ."
"Bagman," Kingsley stated.
"I knew that," Harry insisted. "So, what can we do for you Mister. . ."
"Bagman!" They all turned and noted the Bulgarian champion and his date waltzing by.
"I knew that!" Harry snapped after them. He turned back to the man.
"Anyway, Mister. . ."
"Bagman!" Harry took a deep pull on his flask as the French champion danced by.
"I am going to curse the next person who says. . ."
"Bag-mph!" Ludo grunted from behind the hand Kingsley had clamped over his mouth.
"Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus, Ludo," Kingsley stated. The former quidditch player gave him a bright grin.
"I have no idea what that means!"
"And I am completely not surprised by that," Kingsley replied.
"Anyway. . ." Ludo trailed off as he watched someone walk by. "I'll be right back. I need to speak with that witch." They watched him run off.
"Do you think he actually knows that's a wizard?" Potter's date asked.
"As a chief investigator, one of the hardest lessons I've learned, is when to not ask questions," Kingsley stated as he rose to his feet. "It was a pleasure."
-End
(:ii:)
-Author's drunken rambling. So. . .uh. . .Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas in March. Oi. I think this was a record and I apologize for it. You would not believe the amount of shit I've been through in the last. . .four months? Whoa. Time flies when life changes.
So, I got an adult job now. Kind of. I'm still in a warehouse, but now I'm a state employee reaping those state bennies! Which is good because those state paychecks ain't great. Seriously though, my medical, vacation and sick leave are amazing and I have an okay pension, though I need to start looking into a 401K or an IRA and oh God, I just realized I'm getting older. Not the fun older that kids dream about, but the real older where you just want to be a kid again.
Alright, I got something here for you. I'm a bit past drunk and wasn't going to add anything, but you guys seem to dig my bullshit, so here we go.
A friend of mine pointed me to a review site and low and behold, wait. Low and behold? What the fuck? You know what? Never mind. Anyway, some dude left a review of this story. Said it was shit or something. Cool. I've been doing this a long time. Calling my stories shit and not saying why doesn't bother me at all. This is the internet. It happens.
Anyway, the reviewer than went on a rant calling me a typical whack job, patriotic, anti-liberal gun owner.
That kind of shit sort of pisses me off. I mean, I get it. A lot of Americans call themselves patriotic and try to use it as some sort of shield to deflect away from the fact that they're just being a bunch of cunts. That doesn't excuse appropriating the term "patriot" as an insult.
Am I American? Fuck yeah I am. Am I okay with that? I have the initials US tattooed on my body in two places. I spent six years in America's screwball, sitcom death cult, the USMC.
I like this place. As a matter of fact, I like this place in the manner that only recent immigrants can because I'm only second generation on my dad's side.
Sorry, getting side tracked. Anyway, what bothered me the most was the anti-liberal comment.
I'm actually fiscally conservative and socially liberal.
What does that mean?
That mean's I'm actually a human being and not a strawman. I don't fit neatly into categories and neither do a majority of people.
I like guns. Why does that mean I hate liberals even though I lean pretty left on social matters?
But America is no longer a place for humans. The only thing that exists here is straw.
The scary thing is, the world kind of seems to be following suit.
So, uncle advice time. People will disagree with you. That's life. Fucking deal with it and move on. If we all do that, we'll probably get along a lot better. Also, wash your nasty hands and stop touching your damn faces. People get sick that way.
Love,
Uncle Jack
