"Right, well, I'm a busy man, so let's get down to business. First of all, we need to discuss your security."
The Prime Minister drew himself up to his fullest height and replied, "I am perfectly happy with the security I've already got, thank you very—"
"Well, we're not," Scrimgeour cut in. "It'll be a poor lookout for the Muggles if their Prime Minister gets put under the Imperious Curse. The new secretary in your outer office—"
"I'm not getting rid of Kingsley Shacklebolt, if that's what you're suggesting!" said the Prime Minister hotly. "He's been highly efficient, gets through twice the work the rest of them—"
"That's because he's a wizard,"
-Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, page 17
Carry On
Kingsley Shacklebolt was fairly happy with his predicament.
Sure, he was around Muggles most days, but that was alright. He found them rather fascinating, anyways.
As a child, Kingsley had never been around Muggles much. His father had been a Pureblood, descended from an ancient tribe of African wizards. His mother had been a Half-blood witch from England. Raised in a magical household, he had rarely come into contact with non-magic folk. His parents hadn't disliked Muggles per se, but had maintained a sort of indifferent air whenever they were brought up. So, at the end of second year, when given the opportunity to choose electives, he naturally chose Muggle Studies.
Kingsley found the class fascinating. All the things Muggles could do without magic! With their telephones, they could talk to somebody just as easily as using the Floo, but they would stay clean and sootless. With their lighters, they could start a fire as easily as the Incendio Charm. And with their guns, they could kill a man almost as easily as Avada Kedavra.
Over the summers, Kingsley did some independent study. He learned about the adaption of the Muggle radio into the Wizard Wireless, a fact that was commonly overlooked by arrogant wizards, refusing to admit that Muggles invented something first. He would sometimes slip out into Muggle London, and learn to blend in with the mundane. His interest in Muggles was nothing compared to his love of Defense Against the Dark Arts, (Muggle Studies was almost his favorite class,) or Arthur Weasley's alleged obsession with any and all things Muggle. He had simply determined for himself that Muggles were not as stupid as many wizards believed them to be.
He joined the Aurors immediately upon graduation from Hogwarts. The training was tough, and "Mad-Eye" Moody's instruction even tougher, but he survived. Heck, after a few years, he even took on a trainee.
Nymphadora Tonks. Quickly, he learned never to call her anything other than "Tonks," for fear of being hexed into oblivion, or kicked in the shins. She was a Metamorphagus, and absurdly clumsy. She told him that while she hadn't even had to study for the Disguise and Concealment exam, she almost failed her Stealth and Tracking exam. The image made him laugh. That girl.
Sometime during all of this, Kingsley joined the Order of the Phoenix.
He remembered the confusion in the summer of '95. A Hogwarts student had died in the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament. Harry Potter and Dumbledore were claiming that Voldemort had returned. The Ministry didn't believe them, and started openly attacking the two. Their names were slandered in the Daily Prophet, and it became a battle between the few people who believed in Potter and Dumbledore, and the overwhelming majority that didn't. Kingsley knew whose side he was on.
The first week into the summer, he sent an owl to Dumbledore. It read:
Professor Dumbledore,
I'm ready, sir, and I want to help.
-Kingsley Shacklebolt
A year later, Kingsley was a fully fledged and experienced member of the Order of the Phoenix. He'd done many jobs for Dumbledore, including leading the Ministry on a wild goose chase for the (innocent) mass murderer, Sirius Black, and later fighting alongside the man trying to save Harry Potter and his friends from Death Eaters. The Ministry of Magic had finally accepted that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had returned, and was doing everything in its dwindling power to try and stop him.
Fudge was voted out of office. Nobody trusted the man anymore, and so the public named a new Minister; Rufus Scrimgeour, former head of the Aurors. Soon afterwards, Scrimgeour came to Kingsley with a new assignment. He was to be the Prime Minister's new security.
He would be on a team with nine other men, with at least five working at any given time. As the only wizard protection, he was supposed to pay special attention to any occurrences the Muggle guards might find strange, and Obliviate them if necessary. While the Prime Minister was not informed of Kingsley's identity, if he found out, he would not have to have his memories erased.
Kingsley quickly became friends with all the men on his team. Most of them were in their late twenties, and had a history with the SAS or MI6. And never had to Obliviate any of them. Well, except for once.
The Minister was visiting a private benefactor of the government, and was sleeping on one of his nearby properties. Kingsley and another man on his team were walking the outer perimeter of the grounds. Everything was quiet.
There was a faint rustling. The other man dismissed it as nothing, but Kingsley knew better. He'd felt a magical fluctuation, as if someone had cast a spell. He heard another faint sound, and saw the air near the estate ripple. Somebody over there was Disillusioned.
"Roberts, I need you to trust me." Kingsley whispered. Roberts looked over and nodded.
"There's a potential threat over there." He pointed." I'm going to engage him, but I need you to hide"
"Why? Wouldn't it be better if we ambushed him together?"
"No. This is a… special case."
Kingsley pulled out his wand. Mahogany and griffin feathered, his wand looked just as it did when he first bought it from Ollivander's. Roger gave him an almost angry look. "What do you think you're gonna do with that? Is this some sort of jo-?" His voice became progressively louder. Then Kingsley flicked the stick at him, and suddenly, he couldn't talk.
"Sorry about that. I'll explain later." Kingsley ran towards the intruder. Rogers stood there, with his mouth opening and closing like a fish, still trying to speak. He shook himself out of the daze, and ran towards Kingsley and the unknown intruder.
When he got there, Kingsley and another man had sticks pointed at each other. The strange man was wearing dark robes, and had a white mask over his face. Rogers heard the oddly dressed man mutter a few unintelligible words and a purple beam of light came out of the stick. Kingsley dodged it and sent a red beam of light out of his own stick. The odd man waved his stick and a faint blue wall appeared, absorbing the red light. Kingsley fired another red beam of light out of his stick, finally hitting the other man.
The man in the black robes froze, and then fell to the ground. Kingsley waited about five seconds before rushing over to search the man. He pulled off the white mask, and muttered something that sounded like, "Dolohov." Then he rolled up the man's left sleeve. There was a tattoo of a snake coming out a skull. This seemed to be all the confirmation that Kingsley needed. He closed his eyes, muttered a few words, and a bright white-blue light came out of his stick. It then took the shape of a lynx. "Go! Get the Aurors." He commanded it. The lynx nodded once, and then blurred away. He said a few more words under his breath, and ropes shot out of his stick and bound "Dolohov."
Kingsley turned back to Rogers. "Now, I'm going to explain what just happened, but you need to stay calm and listen to me. Understand?" Rogers gave a silent affirmative. "I am a wizard," he continued, "and I work for the British Ministry of Magic. This other man here," he nudged the tied-up man with his foot, "is a Death Eater." At Rogers' confused look, he amended, "A terrorist." Rogers nodded. "His mission was most likely to put the Prime Minister under a curse that would control his mind. The threat has been neutralized, and I've called for reinforcements, but they'll need your testimony. Are you still with me?" Roger nodded again. "Good. Now, I'm going to remove the spell, but I need you to stay focused. Alright? Wonderful." Kingsley flicked his stick (a magic wand?) again.
Rogers cleared his throat. "Kingsley?" He said. His voice was a little horse, but there seemed to be no permanent damage.
"Yes Rogers?" The Aurors began Apparating onto the scene. Rogers stared.
"This is so fucked up."
It had taken several hours to clean that mess up. All in all, Rogers had taken the entire thing pretty well. He hadn't been too happy when he learned that his memories had to be erased, but he took it like a man.
"If me losing my memories helps you win your Goddamn war, then… so be it."
That is what Kingsley called a brave man.
"Shacklebolt?"
"Yes sir?" Kingsley turned around and snapped to attention.
"At ease, soldier." The Prime Minister said. Kingsley nodded, and relaxed. "Now, Shacklebolt, something very interesting happened to me last night. Yes, very interesting indeed."
Kingsley raised his eyebrows. "Sir?"
"Last night, I was sitting at my desk, and… an ugly portrait talked to me."
Kingsley molded his face into the perfect mixture of surprise and disbelief. "But sir, paintings aren't able to speak. Are you feeling all right, sir?" The man was either crazy, or had been contacted by the Minister of Magic; either way, Kingsley had to play it safe.
"Well, Shacklebolt, let's pretend that paintings can talk. So, this painting told me that the "Minister of Magic" requested a meeting with me. The next thing I knew, a man appeared out of my fireplace. He stepped out of green flames. Know anything about that, Shacklebolt?"
Kingsley blinked, his face impassive.
"Then, this man starts telling me about some Voldywart—"
Kingsley smiled inwardly; that was one he hadn't heard before.
"—person, and how he's responsible for this week's calamities! And how this man is going to come and destroy us all! Know anything about that, Kingsley?"
Kingsley once again had to make a quick decision.
"Yes, sir."
The Prime Minister didn't look surprised. Instead, he looked at Kingsley impatiently.
"Well? Is it all true? Is that Moldyfart person really coming?"
Kingsley nodded.
"And you're going to stop him?"
"We're going to try."
The Prime Minister regarded him. His bodyguard. His sometimes- secretary. His comrade. Then he nodded.
"Carry on, soldier. Carry on." Carry on. Carry on.
Carry On.
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