Summer Camp: Table Sports - 100 points Score! Write about a tournament.
Cabin: McGonagall
WC: 907
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"Remind me," Kingsley said to Moody, his voice hushed in the early morning sunlight streaming through the large windows of the Auror training hall, "how did you manage to get the higher ups to agree to this?"
His gesture towards the transformed hall was small, a brief toast with his coffee cup — a lifeline to be functional this early on, even as Moody decried his reliance on caffeine. It didn't stop the other man from sipping from his own cup, so full of sugar that Kingsley could almost taste it on the air, before he answered.
"This, lad, is a multifunctional piece of training apparatus designed to test adaptability to unknown and evolving scenarios."
"It's an obstacle course," Kingsley replied flatly, matching Moody's crooked smirk with a raised eyebrow, knowing the other man could read his amusement as clear as day regardless.
"That it is." Moody turned back to survey the course: a twisted beast of rope and wood, the reflection of water shimmering on the ceiling in unusual places and patches that looked suspiciously like mud.
Kingsley frowned, rising up on his toes to peer suspiciously at one section as the doors swung open and the new trainees began to file in, bleary eyed and pale with terror. "Is that a ping pong table?"
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"Put your back into it, Dawkins!"
Kingsley couldn't say whether Moody's roar was meant to encourage the younger man — colour high on his olive cheeks and lip bitten almost to blood as he carefully wobbled through the course — or distract him, but it culminated with a loud yelp, and squelching splash. Trainee Auror Dawkins carefully picked himself up out of the mud, and ran muck covered hands through his tightly curled hair, trying to get the worst of it off as he slowly squelched back to the climbing wall.
"I'd say he gets ten points for keeping going," Kingsley murmured into Moody's ear, feeling the curious tickling sensation of Moody's magical eye staring straight through his skull. Trainee Auror Heriot was on her second lap — her hijab pulled tight to her skull and patchworked with dried mud — teeth bared in a vicious grin. She still held the tennis racket in one hand, frame bent and strings warped by the spell she had batted away a few minutes earlier — a feat that had gained her five points from Kingsley and a yell to 'Not show off' from Moody.
"He's a stubborn bastard," Moody agreed, with no hint of irony in his voice. His magical eye shifted sideways and Kingsley remained where he was as Moody turned to look at him, his human eye locked on his face.
He could feel the warmth of Moody's breath against his skin, the strange topography of his face casting harsh shadows in the dimmed light in the viewing booth. It wasn't true privacy — that they could only find in the cramped confines of Moody's flat, a place Kingsley had moved into temporarily three years ago and had never left — but it was close enough that Kingsley didn't feel the urge to move away. Kingsley grinned, watching Moody's gaze follow the movement, feeling the tension in Moody's free hand, resting, curled into the fabric of his trousers in readiness.
"Do the points mean anything?" Kingsley asked, breaking the moment with a tilt of his head, knowing that any advances lay in his hands and his hands only. Moody laughed, the sound low and soft, a hint of Moody's rolling accent in the vibrations that rumbled through Kingsley's jaw.
"They can do," Moody muttered, his magical eye spinning in it's socket, the electric blue shocking in his tawny complexion. "Had to make it sound official for Scrimegeour. I have my suspicions that Nelle Campbell in Accounting knows what I'm doing, but she's sweet on me."
"Oh, is she?"
Moody's grin was dark and it sent a thrill down Kingsley's spine.
"Aye, she is. I'm quite a catch, you know."
Kingsley moved before he fully realised what was happening, fingers splayed in the familiar shape of a Shield rune — a gesture that was second nature now thanks to Moody's training. It had made the others in his group look at him with sympathy, bruises from blunted spell fire hidden in his dark skin but no less painful, but Kingsley was proud of it.
"That's going to cost you, Trainee Auror Lee." There was a slight twinge of discomfort at the base of his skull — he was only a few years older than some of the fresh faced hopefuls below them — but he pushed past it with a confidence he didn't feel yet.
"Sorry sir!" Lee called back, freckles standing out on his pale face. He tucked the cricket bat behind his back — the wood pitted with burns and slightly smoking at the curved edges — unsuccessfully trying to hide it as he grinned. He looked like an errant schoolboy with mud smeared on one cheek and hair cut ragged across his fringe.
"Two more laps for everyone," Kingsley said, tension releasing from his shoulders as they complied without a murmur.
"Nicely done," Moody muttered, the faint whirring hiss of his magical eye spinning starting back up once more. "This was a good idea of mine."
"It's different," Kingsley agreed, reaching blindly backwards and feeling Moody's hand slip easily into his. "Calling it good may be a stretch."