Happy Halloween!
Title: Ghost from the Past
Word count: 9900
Characters: Kingsley Shacklebolt / Gideon Prewett
Rating: R for subject matter: past rape, mutilation and torture
Author's Notes: Happy Halloween! Thank you, stellastars for the beta; I tinkered with it some more so all mistakes are my own.
Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns these characters and universe; publishing rights belong to Bloomsbury, Scholastic, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. No profit is made from this.
"Won't you take a seat, Kingsley?" Headmaster Dumbledore asked as he sat at his desk.
Kingsley shook his head. He'd caught something a few days ago and had been terribly sick. He leaned against the offered chair and laced his hands behind his back. He was tired, but he'd never been comfortable in the Headmaster's office. Sitting wouldn't change that. Not to mention he was afraid that if he sat, he would fall asleep.
"No thank you, sir, I'm afraid I haven't much time to spare," Kingsley said. It was the middle of the day and he was on a lunch break from work. Dumbledore had sent him an owl early that morning, asking Kingsley to stop by his office as soon as possible.
Dumbledore looked up at him, "This shouldn't take long, Kingsley, but I'd like to ask a few questions."
Kingsley nodded and said, "Of course, sir."
"I have an assignment, but I'm not sure you're the best choice for it. Do you remember your first mission as an official Auror?"
Kingsley involuntarily flinched - as if he would ever forget. He'd finished the three-year course on a Friday in June 1981 and to celebrate, he and Gideon spent the next four days in Italy with his cousin.
They had come home Wednesday afternoon and both men had returned to work on Thursday. Late that morning, an urgent notice came into the Aurors' office, calling Fabian and his team out to investigate a suspected location for Death Eaters. Typically, Gideon sent him an owl if he left with his brother. During those uncertain times, both men were afraid to not let the other know their whereabouts.
Kingsley had gone home late that afternoon, expecting to find Gideon asleep, but he wasn't in their flat. Three hours later, well after he finished cooking dinner, Kingsley had a call from Moody through the fireplace, calling him into work.
There had been several emergency flares from the same location that Fabian had been sent to investigate, Moody had told him. He said he needed all the Aurors he could find quickly to go in and rescue Fabian's team. Still not connecting the two together - Kingsley had been so young then - Kingsley, Moody and four other Aurors Apparated to the general area.
Kingsley shook his head; he didn't want to remember any more, not while Dumbledore was silently watching him.
"Has someone reported suspicious activity there, sir?" Kingsley asked. He remembered the exact location he had found Gideon's body, lying frozen in death, mutilated, in the middle of a graveyard. It was the only possible option for the current mission, or else Dumbledore would have sent him without discussion.
Smiling, Dumbledore nodded, "Yes, for the last two weeks. Two Order members are preparing to visit the area tonight, and I wondered if you might like to accompany them?"
Kingsley accepted immediately.
"Good," Dumbledore said, "If you'll meet Lupin and Jones outside her home at ten o'clock; I'll tell them to expect you."
~~ * ~~ * ~~
Dressing in black jeans, boots and a tee shirt, Kingsley took out his gold hoop and set in on his dresser. He hesitated for a moment before walking away from it, gently touching it. He was getting too old to wear jewelry, yet the thought of permanently removing it tore at his heart.
Hestia and Remus were sitting on her front porch when he arrived, talking like old friends. Kingsley called out, "Hey, neighbors," to warn them he approached and sat down in an empty chair next to Remus. She lived in an area populated with Muggles and preferred no magical theatrics around her neighborhood.
"Now that Kingsley is here, are you ready for that walk?"
Remus nodded. "I'd like that. You're not too tired, are you, King?"
Kingsley patted his stomach, "I ate too much dinner, I need a long walk."
They casually discussed the weather until they cleared the end of the street.
"You remember what it looks like?" Remus asked.
She nodded, "I looked it over this morning, I’m good."
"Kingsley?"
He nodded tersely, of course he remembered.
She led them to a small side street from where they could Apparate. Kingsley waited for both of them before following. He could admit alone in the dark that he was nervous.
~~ * ~~ * ~~
It was dark except for the half moon hanging low in the sky. Kingsley could see Remus to his left and Hestia to his right, both waiting for his signal. Motioning them to move, the three of them slowly advanced through the woods toward the graveyard. Dampening his emotions and memories, Kingsley pulled his wand out and gripped it tightly. His job came first and he wouldn't risk his friends for bad memories.
He couldn't see much in the dark as he crawled forward, but the ground had recently been turned. Soft earth clung to his knees as he crouched behind a large gravestone. Hestia hid behind a large angel, its arms outstretched toward the heavens. He couldn’t see Remus and for a moment Kingsley panicked, afraid he'd find his friend dead.
Shaking his head, Kingsley banished the thought. He didn't like it here but that was no reason to panic like a child. The pale moonlight reflected off the cold stone, giving some light. Shadows played tricks with his eyes, moving among the stones like ghosts, making it hard to distinguish between what was real and what was fanciful as they advanced again.
The house was completely dark; there were no lights and no noises. Remus crept to the front door, Kingsley close behind him. As it swung open at Remus' barest touch, Kingsley tensed, defense spells rattling around his brain. On his knees, Remus curled around the frame, peering inside.
With one hand he motioned Kingsley and Hestia to join him.
"I'll go upstairs," Remus whispered, "Hestia, take this floor and Kingsley the basement." Again, they waited thirty seconds after Remus entered to follow him, Kingsley casting Lumos so he could see.
The house was old, hole-ridden sheets covered bulky furniture. The two chandeliers, one in the foyer and one in the dining room were covered with so many spider webs they looked like giant nests. Every few seconds he heard the creak of floorboards as Remus walked upstairs. Looking down, he carefully stepped around small piles of something on the floor. Most of it looked like decomposed rats or rat droppings. Hestia was going to love this.
He glanced back at her; she followed him until he found a stairwell leading to the basement. She had covered her mouth with a handkerchief, something Kingsley wished he thought to bring. He motioned that he was going downstairs.
The stairs were decrepit, yet clean, which shocked Kingsley. Two steps were missing, one toward the top and the second from the bottom. Raising his wand, Kingsley looked around. The basement was much different from the rest of the house. No moldy sheets permeated the room. The air didn't smell fresh, but it wasn't as stale as upstairs. Clutter was everywhere; old pieces of furniture, broken chairs and empty picture frames littered the floor. Yet, there were no dead animals here. Alert, Kingsley instantly realized that this part of the house was currently in use. Considering the mess upstairs, he doubted any intrepid trespasser would venture this far inside to look.
He recognized much of the visible furniture; it was the same overbearing style as that in the Muggle Minister's offices. Whoever owned this house was Muggle nobility at the least. He didn't see footsteps in the dust, until he leaned over and ran one finger across the floor. There was no dust on the floor. It was clean.
It looked like one large room, but the clutter could easily hide so much. He wandered around carefully, keeping his back to solid walls where he could, but found nothing else until he reached the back of the basement. Behind an upended sofa, he could see a dull light shining through cracks; seams that were the same size and shape as a door.
Whispering Expecto Patronum, Kingsley sent his Patronus upstairs to find Remus and Hestia.
He sat down on the edge of an end table and waited, starting when it creaked beneath his weight. He jumped off the table, wand at the ready, when he heard a moan behind the closed door. He waited in silence, debating the wisdom of entering the room by himself when he heard the second moan. Picturing all sorts of torture devices in his mind, he cast alohomora and burst through the door.
One thin, dirty man was tangled in a pile of ropes; his eyes clenched shut against the light of Kingsley's wand. He wore tattered trousers and not much else. His feet were twisted terribly beneath him and Kingsley wondered if the man could walk. His skin was filthy. Both hands were twisted in the ropes and Kingsley was unsure if he was tied in place or holding himself up.
"Are you all right, mate?" Kingsley said softly.
He didn't speak, but jerked his head.
"I've got friends coming to help. Want me to get you out of here?"
He raised his head; face contorting with obvious fear even with his eyes clenched shut.
"Hey, it's okay, we're here to help. We're not Death Eaters."
The man in the ropes didn't speak, but shook his head frantically. Kingsley hoped his eyes were intact beneath those eyelids.
"No one else," he whispered, voice raspy, broken.
"I already called them, mate, I can't tell them no one is here."
"No one else, I can't see anyone, do you understand?"
"We're not going to hurt you!" Kingsley said snappishly. He was beginning to think the man didn't want rescued.
The man sighed, "I thank you, I do, but it's not safe for me to see anyone."
Watching him closely as his eyes adjusted to the dim light in the room, Kingsley could see the man clung to the ropes, as if he feared to let go. He was trembling like a child, as if he was unable to control his shivers. Something about him seemed familiar… Kingsley ran a list through his mind of missing people, trying to match him with someone he knew.
Kingsley trusted his own instincts and didn't question his fear to see anyone. Instead, he jumped up as he heard them running down the stairs. He snuck out the room and closed the door.
"Look," he said, "there's no dust and no dead rats. The sofa on the far wall looks used. Someone is living here, downstairs, but they're not here now. I say we set up surveillance on the house."
Remus nodded, still whispering, "I agree. There's nothing upstairs. Hestia?"
She shook her head, "I didn't find anything either."
"Let's go then," Remus said, "If you'll suggest to the Ministry that they put surveillance on the house, Kingsley?"
He nodded and waited for them to Apparate. It wasn't a surprise, Kingsley was always the last to leave a room by his choice.
Except that this time, for the first time, he didn't leave. Instead, he hustled back to the room and spelled the door open. The man was still alone and stuck in the ropes, relieving Kingsley's fears that it was a trap.
Kingsley kneeled in front of the man, "They're gone. Now, can I help?"
The man nodded and Kingsley reached out, putting his hand on the ropes next to his arm. He flinched and let go of the ropes - Kingsley's hand must have brushed against him - and held his hand out flat, palm facing Kingsley's face.
Frowning, Kingsley didn't like the niggling feeling in the back of his head that he should recognize this person. No one he knew very well had disappeared recently. "I must remind you," he said. "Not to look at me if my eyes are open." Kingsley nodded even though the man couldn't see it.
"Can you Apparate?" Kingsley asked.
"Doubtful, can you do a side along?"
Kingsley flinched again, "Yeah." He hated when memories of Gideon sideswiped him that way.
"To St. Mungo's?" Kingsley asked.
"No! They'll want to look at my eyes, I can't allow that."
"I'll tell them not to, they'll listen to me."
"No, I said. Is there someplace you can take me that no one will find me?"
Kingsley thought about his grandfather's home. It was empty. Even better was the guesthouse in the far corner of the property. Kingsley often took dates there for the night when he didn't want to take them to his flat. That would work, "Possibly."
Kingsley stood and the man wrapped long, bony fingers around his wrist, pulling himself up. The niggling feeling doubled and Kingsley tried to look closer at him, but when he raised his lit wand, the man flinched away.
"Please, just get me out of here. It's been so long," he whispered.
Kingsley was rarely impulsive at his age but he was unable to ignore that plea. He rarely trusted anyone not in the Order with his life, yet this man brought out the strangest feelings in him. Still, he opted to Apparate to the edge of Southwood's property near the guesthouse. They could walk there easily enough.
He stood still for a moment, head cocked to the side as if smelling the air or listening to the noises of the night. Then the man crumpled to the ground without support as Kingsley let him go without warning, his feet obviously worse than Kingsley originally thought. Without hesitation, Kingsley swept him up in his arms, carrying him inside the guesthouse. The man curled up in a ball, arms folded across his chest, chin tucked inside his hands. "Thank you," he whispered.
Hesitating inside, Kingsley really didn't want to leave him on the furniture, he chose to carry him directly to the loo and lay him on the tiled floor near the bathtub. There were always warm robes here and he Accio'd those as well as two towels. "Stay here," Kingsley mumbled, turning on the water.
He knew that Scourgify would never work, that man had so much dirt and mud layered on his skin he would never be clean. They kept Muggle products here as well, things his family found practical to use and he pulled several out from the cabinet under the sink.
He promised himself that as soon as the man was in the water, he'd send his owl with a letter to Moody and his father. He didn't mind being alone, but it was stupid to not tell someone.
He turned around to find the man had already shed his clothes, lying on the floor. He was curled in a fetal position so tightly that Kingsley could only see his head and shoulders. "The water's ready, mate. Let's go."
He picked his head up and twisted it around, "You really want me to take a bath?"
"Of course I do. You can't sleep on the floor, and you're too dirty to be in the bed."
He laughed harshly, "As if." He quickly tucked his head back in his hands and didn't move.
"What's wrong?" Kingsley asked.
"You really want me to take a bath?"
"Yes."
He unrolled his body and crawled toward Kingsley's voice. "Here," Kingsley said, "Let me help you." Kingsley touched his back and the man collapsed on the ground, limp. Something much worse was going on and Kingsley hadn't figured it out yet.
"What's wrong?"
The man tilted his head up again, "You're new at this, aren't you?"
"New at what?"
"This game all of you play with me. You're new at it."
"Explain yourself," Kingsley said, worry gnawing at him as things began to make more sense.
"First, I think we really left that basement. I'm not allowed to do that and you'll get in trouble for it. Second, you haven't hit me yet, so you're proving yourself soft for a Death Eater. Third, I think you really want to give me a bath and that isn't allowed either. Fourth, you haven't tried to make me open my eyes to see if the conditioning works and whether I'll try and kill you or not."
"Kill me? Conditioning?"
"Stop playing dumb, this isn't a new game ya' know, even if you've bent the rules."
"Listen, this isn't a game, I'm not a fucking Death Eater. We had word that there has been suspicious activity at that house and we snuck in last night to investigate it."
The man slumped on the floor, "You're very convincing, and I don't recognize your voice. Listen, I don't care who you look like with the Polyjuice Potion in you, but I've had enough. Just fucking do what you want to do and send me back home."
Home? "I don't know who you think I am," Kingsley said, "But I'm not a damned Death Eater. I'm an Auror for the Ministry and my name is Kingsley Shacklebolt. If you've been…"
He never finished the sentence; at the mention of his name the man on the floor uncurled, rage contorting his features. "Shut up, shut up, shut up. You bastard!" He launched himself toward Kingsley, swinging wildly, but missed since he hadn't opened his eyes.
Kingsley easily caught him and pinned him to the floor, "Enough of that!" he said, "Why are you attacking me?"
He didn't answer, he laid on the floor, trembling violently, but didn't speak.
"I won't kill you. I won't even try. You bastards haven't broken me that far. Send me home." He pushed himself off the floor with his left hand. His right was still curled beneath him.
Kingsley glanced down at the hand on the floor and gasped in shock. Even the grime and couldn't hide the truth in the shape of those atrophied fingers. The man tilted his head, but didn't speak.
Confused, and even terrified, Kingsley looked closer, trying to see who was beneath all that dirt. His hair was matted to his head, dark brown from dirt, tangled and matted in short clumps. However, his long, narrow jaw matched Kingsley's memory.
Trembling, Kingsley kneeled next to him, reaching one shaky hand out to touch his left earlobe. It was tattered and ripped, as if an earring had been torn out and it never healed properly.
"Who are you?" Kingsley asked softly, needing to hear the answer even if he already knew.
"I don't have a name anymore," The man said tiredly. "I am whoever you wish me to be."
Whatever they had fucking done to Gideon, they would pay, Kingsley vowed. Every last one of them would die a long, terrible death for this.
"I want you to be the man you once were, I want you to be free," Kingsley whispered, assuming Gideon couldn't hear him.
He laughed terribly at that comment, "If you wanted me to be free, you'd kill me. No. None of you want me free. You all know damn well that someone in the Order is alive and free and hiding. I'd find them, and then I'll find an honest Auror and we'll hunt you down and kill you. No, you don't want me free. Now just fucking do whatever you came here to do and send me back."
"Why do you say that?" Kingsley couldn’t imagine what lies they had told Gideon the last sixteen years.
"You think I haven't heard your whispers? You think that I don't know that you won your war? The only reason I'm still alive is because of my conditioning. You want to know it worked and that I'll kill anyone I see."
This was beyond Kingsley's skill. "Alright, I want you to get a bath and get clean. I want you to wash that damn hair of yours until there's no more dirt. I want you to powder yourself with that Muggle flea powder for dogs as well. Then wash again."
Whatever fire had burned in him quickly extinguished. He collapsed in a pile on the floor. "As you wish," he muttered.
Shocked, Kingsley sat in the corner of the loo on a stool, silently watching Gideon do exactly as he ordered. Whoever this man was, and Kingsley knew it was Gideon; he wasn't the fiery, temperamental man he once loved. This man was broken and fixed then broken again. Kingsley could finally see his right hand, with its terrible, twisted fingers that would never be able to hold a wand.
Kingsley didn't know what to do, or how to convince Gideon that he was really free. The thought of conditioning - how the hell did the Death Eaters do that? - terrified him. Would he really try to kill anyone he looked at? Kingsley needed to know more before he risked anyone else's life.
Almost one hour, a half bar of soap, a whole container of flea power and three refills for the bathtub, Gideon was clean. Or almost clean. There was a dirty spot smeared across the middle of his back that he obviously couldn't reach. Kingsley finally moved, padding quietly across the floor, "You missed one spot, may I?"
Gideon - oh, how it hurt to call that man Gideon - froze in the tub. "If that is your wish," he said tonelessly.
Kingsley kneeled behind him, just looking at him. The water, even the third refill, was murky. He had always been thin, but Gideon was painful to look at now; all his bones poked through his skin, his spine was bent as if he wouldn’t be able to straighten it, his left shoulder had an odd angle to it. Kingsley had already seen his right hand and both feet.
He reached around and held his hand out for a rag, but Gideon looked at his hand without moving.
"The washcloth, please?"
Gideon quickly dropped it into his hand, but didn't speak. At least Kingsley knew he could see for sure.
He dipped his hands in the cool water, and unable to resist, pressed one hand softly against Gideon's shoulder blade while washing his back. Gideon didn't react at all to his touch. He didn't move, flinch or lean back into it. Kingsley felt as if his heart might shatter. Either way, with Gideon so docile, Kingsley was unwilling to give up the contact. He scooted closer, his left hand still against his back, his right hand sliding up and down, dipping into the water and rinsing him. "Want me to check your hair?" he asked.
"If you want," Gideon answered. Kingsley tilted Gideon's head to the side so he could see the top of it. Parts of hair were missing, other parts were long, some were short. Most of it was a knotted mess that no amount of washing would fix.
"Are you attached to it?" Kingsley asked.
"To what?"
"Your hair. It would be easier to shave it off and let it regrow."
"If you think that's best."
Kingsley accio'd a razor from the drawer and began shaving it immediately. He cleaned up the sideburns and tufts of hair on his chin. Not that Gideon ever had much facial hair. Gideon didn't move again, even when Kingsley nicked the crown of his head.
The blood ran down his forehead, between his eyes and Kingsley quickly picked up the washcloth and wrung it out, gently wiping his face off. "Sorry about that," he said.
Gideon had his eyes clenched shut again. He didn't answer or respond and Kingsley finally looked at him while he held the washcloth against the top of Gideon's head. He was and wasn't the man Kingsley remembered. Gideon had never been this thin, but his body still looked familiar.
Kingsley was surprised by his anger; for the last sixteen years he'd thought Gideon dead, and lived his life as such. To learn that someone had taken him and obviously tortured him was overwhelming. So many emotions were rushing through him; it was hard to decipher any of them.
"Talk to me," Kingsley demanded, "tell me what happened."
Gideon laughed harshly before answering, "You're pretty emotional for a Death Eater."
"I am not a Death Eater, I said. Tell me why you think they won." Kingsley shook his head, "Wait, first get out of the tub, you're done." He needed warm clothing and food, but Kingsley wasn't ready to say that. He stood up and helped Gideon out. It was easy with Gideon's eyes closed to take a closer look at him.
Dear Merlin, Kingsley thought, What have they done to you? His lower back had been lacerated, even his chest and legs were scarred.
Kingsley lowered him to the floor and wrapped him in a towel, letting Gideon dry himself. As soon as Kingsley sat back on the stool, Gideon turned around so his back was to him.
"All right," Gideon said, "If this is your game I'll play along. I know they won because I've talked to their leaders. I've heard the stories over and over about how the Order members were rounded up and killed, except for a key few.
"Those are the ones I'm to kill on sight. I know this is true because I've done it before."
"Who?" Kingsley asked. He couldn't believe that Prewett killed anyone. During the first war, they often argued about the use of Unforgivable curses. Kingsley believed they were best dead; Gideon didn't believe in them or the use of Dementors to guard Azkaban.
"You're really new at this, aren't you?" Gideon asked, tilting his head to the side. "You almost sound genuine."
"I told you, I am not…" Kingsley sighed then regulated his voice. "Tell me whom you killed," he demanded.
"Dorcas Meadows. Ollivander."
"Why Ollivander?"
"He wouldn't divulge what kinds of wands the Aurors used. They wanted to know in order to make sure nothing happened like what happened before. They wanted to be prepared and force him to make extra wands. He wouldn't, so they killed him."
"Before?"
"Something recently happened involving the Dark Lord and similar wands. I don't know what it was."
"Are you sure it was Ollivander?"
"I saw him."
"I thought you couldn't open your eyes."
"I can't look at any Order members. If I don't see you, I don't want to kill you."
"And what about a former lover? Would you kill him?"
"Him? I don't have any male former lovers."
"You're lying."
"Listen, I know the rules. I don't lie anymore; it's not worth the beating."
"Then tell me the rules."
"Fine, you get to play a Death Eater or an Order member, you command me, I obey your every whim, then I'm locked back up again until the next time."
"You don't obey very well," Kingsley said, ignoring the sick feeling in his stomach.
"You don't like it when I obey perfectly. You like the attitude."
"So why do you do it."
"It hurts less in the end to play along. Which makes a difference to me."
"So, do I seem different this time?"
Gideon didn't say anything until Kingsley spoke again. "Do I? Tell me the truth."
"Yes. You're role is very convincing this time."
"Still, you seem to have an attitude I cannot account for. Have I ever played Shacklebolt before?"
Kingsley was watching carefully and saw Gideon's hand twitch, an old nervous habit he never lost. It was disgusting that Kingsley felt thankful for recognizing something about Gideon.
"No, you have not, but then you rarely play Order members."
"Then open your eyes and look at me."
Gideon shook his head frantically, then felt it with his broken hand, as if he couldn't figure out the baldness at first.
"I just shaved your head, remember?"
"Yes, I remember," he said softly, as if he expected to be punished for that.
"I'm not punishing you, but I want you to look at me."
Gideon shook his head again, fingers gripping the edge of the towel.
"Why won't you look at me?" Kingsley asked, hoping that the Gideon he knew was still in there, somewhere.
He refused to answer, instead curling back up on the floor in a fetal position.
"Gideon?" Kingsley said, "What's wrong? Talk to me, love." He wasn't thinking clearly or he'd never have said that. There was no way that Gideon would believe that he was really Kingsley.
"DON'T CALL ME THAT!" Gideon bounded off the floor naked, eyes still closed, stumbling toward Kingsley. Surprised, Kingsley jumped off the stool and caught him. Fists pummeling his chest, they fell to the floor in a tangle heap, Kingsley twisting so they landed on his back and not Gideon's.
Kingsley laid still and let Gideon hit him. It wasn't like he hit very hard, he had always been right handed and with his mangled hand he couldn’t close his fist to be very effective. Either way, Kingsley knew he'd have some bruises the next day.
"Just kill me. I won't do this anymore," Gideon said, rolling off Kingsley to lie on the cold floor.
Kingsley sat up, wanting to touch him but afraid to. He wasn't sure how to convince Gideon this was for real. He pulled two robes off the sink and wrapped Gideon in them then carried him to a sofa. Lying Gideon on it, Kingsley went to make something simple to eat. And tea - he needed tea. He was sure there would be some sort of broth in stock.
After considering it for a moment, Kingsley walked back out to find Gideon already sitting. "You should lie down and rest."
Gideon turned his head away, unwilling to look at him. Kingsley, pulling his wand out and quietly locked all the windows and doors with a personalized spell that Gideon didn't know. It was a shame to lock him in, but after all those years living in the same place, Kingsley realized that Gideon might try to go back.
He desperately needed to talk to someone, but he had carefully worded his letters to Moody and his father so that no one would interrupt him soon. They both knew where he had gone last night and how it would affect him.
Kingsley glanced at the sofa, all he could see was something huddled under black robes. He rarely used magic to make food, but he cooked the chicken based broth and bread as fast as possible. It seemed that Gideon was asleep, but when Kingsley touched him, he flinched slightly.
"Here, eat," he said. Setting the food down, Kingsley sat in the chair furthest away from him. Gideon flipped the robe over his head until everything was shadowed but his chin. Sitting up he looked around and Kingsley stretched his long legs out so Gideon could see them.
Shaking his head, Gideon folded back into a circle and didn't eat.
"Want me to leave the room?" Kingsley asked.
When Gideon didn't answer, Kingsley stood, making sure to flap his feet on the floor so Gideon would know he left.
~~ * ~~ * ~~
Kingsley ate in silence in the kitchen leaning against the counter. He was so upset that he didn't realize he never sat at the table. He desperately wanted to talk to Gideon and find out what happened. Whom did he bury in Gideon's grave if it wasn't Gideon? Did that mean that Fabian lived as well?
No, there was no way Fabian lived. His head and torso were intact. It was Gideon that was unrecognizable. Yet his wand had been there, the hand attached to it had looked like Gideon's, their matching earring was there. Kingsley had taken it off the dead body in his shock.
Of course, that could explain why Gideon's ear was ripped now. Who took him and held him these sixteen years? Part of Kingsley was convinced that Gideon wasn't real, that if he walked back out there right now, he wouldn't be on the sofa eating.
Why was he sure that he couldn’t look at him? Why did mentioning his name or Kingsley's upset him? Kingsley wanted answers, partially to help Gideon and partially to kill the parties responsible. Even before he saw the scars on Gideon's body, Kingsley knew he'd kill someone for what happened.
He heard something clatter onto the floor and setting his dinner down, ran into the other room. Gideon sat on the floor, frantically scraping up bits of his dinner with his good hand, trying to hold the bowl in place with the other.
Without thinking, Kingsley picked up the bowl and carried it out of the room. He refilled a clean bowl with broth and another large piece of bread then carried it back to Gideon.
And almost dropped the bowl again at the sight in front of him. "What's wrong?" he asked as he saw Gideon splayed across the floor, spread eagled. Gideon didn't speak, didn't move and Kingsley realized he was waiting for punishment.
Falling down into the chair next to the sofa, Kingsley didn't know what to think. He felt his stomach gurgling and ran from the room for the closest toilet.
Wiping his brow, Kingsley tucked his head between his knees. He couldn't fix this, he couldn't. Gideon needed professional help. Of course, that meant he wouldn't see Gideon until he was healed, if ever. If he wasn't shipped to Azkaban for murdering two wizards. If he was repairable by someone who didn't love him.
Which was the crux of the matter; Kingsley never stopped loving Gideon. He'd tried to move on, to date, to fall in love again, but so far nothing worked. Sighing, Kingsley stood up and walked back into the kitchen. He picked up a dry washcloth and some disposable towels.
Dropping them near Gideon's head, he said, "There's your punishment. Clean the food off the floor."
Trembling, stomach still upset, Kingsley curled up in the chair and looked away. He couldn't watch. Singing softly to himself to drown out the noise of Gideon cleaning, Kingsley stopped when he felt a soft touch on his leg.
"Done," Gideon whispered.
Kingsley nodded, but didn't look at him, "Good, now eat the second bowl, and don't spill any of it." Not leaving the room was a punishment of sorts, and the only one that Kingsley could bear. He wanted to make him eat more, but what Gideon already had was most likely a feast to him.
Sick to his stomach still, Kingsley swore to cut the balls off whoever captured Gideon and shove them down his throat until he choked. If the bastard lived, he'd personally watch the Dementor kiss him. Nothing else would be good enough.
Gideon finished the second bowl and handed it back perfectly clean. Shuddering at the thought of that, Kingsley put it in the kitchen. He drank a full glass of water while he debated what to do. The bedrooms were upstairs in the cottage, which meant he carried Gideon. There was only one sofa on this floor, and Kingsley would be damned if Gideon slept on that or the floor. He knew he could Transfigure something, but it felt safer to go upstairs.
"We're going upstairs," he said, scooping Gideon into his arms before he could protest. He stopped near the top of the stairs and set Gideon on the ground by the door to the loo.
"First this. Can you use it on your own?"
At his nod, which Kingsley could barely see through the folds of the hood, he left Gideon alone.
Thankful he had left clothes here the last time he visited, Kingsley changed into a tee shirt and shorts, opting to wear something to bed, which he never did. He remembered the last time he'd been there, with some bird for the night whose name he couldn't remember now. However, he wasn't going to wear nothing around Gideon in this stage. The worst part was that in his flat, he was sure he still had a box or two of Gideon's old clothes. Not that those would fit him now.
Waiting two more minutes, Kingsley finally left the bedroom to find him. Gideon was sitting, still wrapped in the robes, in the open doorway in the dark. "All set?" Kingsley asked.
"Did what I needed," Gideon said
"In the dark?" Kingsley meant it as a joke, the words slipping out before he could censor them.
"Yes, in the dark, not used to lights."
Sitting on the floor next to him, Kingsley wasn't sure what to say.
"Besides, there's a mirror in there. Didn't want to see," Gideon continued very quietly.
"Ehm…" What did one say to that? "I saw your face, it's hallow, caved it, but you still look like… the same."
"Liar," Gideon said.
"I don't lie."
"You just did. They showed me my face and it was horrible. I remember the burning."
The burning? "Take your hood off and let me look."
Gideon shook his head back and forth.
"Close your eyes, damn it, and look at me," Kingsley said.
With trembling hands, Gideon obeyed.
Kingsley reached out to touch him, hesitating a centimeter away. Gideon had no scars on his face, or shoulders. His chest was crisscrossed with thin lines as if someone used a razor-thin whip but even those scars looked like they had been partially healed.
"Your ear is a mess, but there's nothing wrong with your face."
"You lie. Every time they made me look, I could see the scars."
"Then it was a glamour, Gideon, nothing more."
"Aren't you done with me yet?" Gideon whispered.
"Never," Kingsley said emphatically. He could hear Gideon sigh.
"What's wrong? Tell me."
"You're very convincing, not like the rest of them."
"I'm not them," Kingsley stood up and pulled the hood over Gideon's face. Picking him up he carried him to another bedroom and set him on the bed.
"You're breaking more rules, ya' know," Gideon said, "'m not allowed to sleep on a bed."
"I'll break them all before we're done," Kingsley told him.
Kingsley left the room and immediately heard a thud. "The bastard," he mumbled and opened the door again. Gideon was curled up on the floor.
"New rule," Kingsley said striding back in there, "You will sleep on the bed and I will punish you if I find you on the floor." Kingsley pulled the covers back and dropped Gideon back on the bed, then tucked him under the covers.
"Okay," Gideon whispered.
Kingsley closed the door again, waiting for a moment before going downstairs. His head still hurt and felt warm to the touch. He had a potion in the kitchen to take that he'd brought from his flat.
He drank more water and hoped that the headache would break by morning. He needed to be able to focus to help with Gideon. He wasn't that tired himself, but chose to go back upstairs with a book to read.
Falling asleep at the end of the third chapter, Kingsley read the next page then doused the light and curled onto his side. Knowing Gideon was one room away left him lonely. He knew he couldn’t sleep with him, but the desire was there to latch onto him and not let him go. Kingsley was terrified that he'd wake up to find Gideon gone.
Kingsley dreamed restlessly about images of men in masks leaning over Gideon on all fours. They laughed the whole time they hurt him, with barbs or whips or their own bodies. He could see the green light cast by the wands they held enveloping Gideon's writhing body as he screamed.
He couldn't stand it, but he couldn't walk away - not when Gideon had endured so much already. Kingsley was unwilling to leave the room, aghast at the horror until one of the Death Eaters beckoned him to come closer. Unable to control his body, Kingsley walked, stopping behind Gideon.
Covered with blood and semen, Gideon knelt there, silently trembling. The Death Eaters were lost to laughter, pointing at him, tapping whips in their hands, making rude gestures to Kingsley to join the fun.
Shaking his head, Kingsley stepped back, but Gideon himself turned around and grabbed Kingsley's hip, ripping the robe open in front. Gasping, Kingsley tried to move, but someone pointed a wand at him and cast a full body bind.
Except for his cock, it seemed.
Horrified, Kingsley tried to break the bind, but couldn't. He didn't want this, and he definitely didn't want Gideon being forced. Except that Gideon didn't look forced. He had a rapturous look on his face while he watched Kingsley. Grinning, he teased him unmercifully with his tongue while Kingsley watched.
The Death Eaters were laughing, encouraging Gideon to take it all in his mouth. Nodding once, Gideon did, swallowing every part while Kingsley gasped in pleasure, unable to control his desire.
"No!" He yelled, finally waking up. Sitting up quickly, he moaned as he felt his orgasm. Covering his face with his hands, he knew immediately that part of it wasn't a dream.
"Gideon, no, you can't do this!"
Kingsley had dreams for two years after Gideon's death, remembering their life together and how much it meant to him. He would wake up in cold sweats, sometimes he'd wake from orgasms, occasionally in tears, but never, never did he dream of this.
Kingsley roughly pulled him away, ignoring the fact that his cock was still in Gideon's mouth, and pinned him to the bed.
"No, I won't let you do that."
It was too dark to tell if Gideon had his eyes open, but Kingsley took a corner of the sheet and gently wiped his mouth. "No more, Gideon. I can't accept that from you, not like that."
"It's part of the rules," Gideon said, "I have to. If you visit me, I have to."
"Not anymore, Gideon, not anymore."
Kingsley wasn't able to resist any longer, he gently pressed a kiss to Gideon's forehead and pushed him to his side, spooning against his back. He'd called him by his name three times now and Gideon hadn't reacted; it was encouraging.
"Who are you?" Gideon asked, sounding confused and lost.
"Someone who wants to help you, now sleep. And don't try anything sexual again, you hear?" Kingsley couldn't believe that Gideon was still awake. He'd first stumbled upon him in the middle of the night and by now dawn was breaking. Light was barely filtering through the tops of the blinds into the room.
"Why are you doing this?" Gideon whispered.
"Doing what?"
"Being nice to me, acting like you're not a Death Eater, letting me sleep in a bed, holding me like you know me."
"Because once upon a time I loved you," Kingsley whispered, "Now sleep."
Because I still love you.
~~ * ~~ * ~~
Kingsley woke early that afternoon, sprawled across the bed. Confused at first as to where he was, he sat up, rubbing his eyes. His clothes were sticky and he realized that he had another dream about Gideon, one where he had been captured by Death Eaters and tortured for years before…
Whipping around he saw a lump on the bed, curled beneath his old robes.
Caught between the terror that the dream was real and the hope that the dream was real, Kingsley leaned over, softly touching him.
"Gideon?"
He moved but didn't unbury himself.
"Wake up, Mr Prewett," Kingsley said softly, rubbing his shoulder.
"Go away, Imp, 'm tired."
Hope flared as bright as Phoenix fire and Kingsley bit his lip, waiting.
"You'll be late for practice, Gideon, if you don't get up soon."
A mangled hand appeared from under the cloaks, waving him away and Kingsley, thrilled, sat up. He wondered how much work it would be to fix his hand, if someone at St. Mungo's could rebreak it and reset it.
If that was possible, his feet were possible, Gideon might walk with a cane, depending on how bad his feet were broken, but it was possible.
As Gideon withdrew his hand and rubbed his face, he froze beneath the blankets. Thinking about the future, it took a few minutes for Gideon's stillness to register that something was wrong.
"Gid…" Kingsley began to ask when Gideon erupted from his blankets and whirled around, hands wrapping around Kingsley's throat and pushed him down, straddling Kingsley's hips.
"Don't. Fucking. Do. That. Again."
Kingsley could have fought back, he could have tried the one or two words of silent magic he knew, but anything he considered fell to the wayside as he met Gideon's eyes.
Bright blue eyes stared at him, vacant of recognition, of hope. He realized that Gideon might as well be dead. Kingsley saw nothing he remembered of Gideon in that expression. Instead of fighting back, Kingsley went limp, lying beneath him. Gideon wasn't squeezing his neck hard enough to choke him, but it was uncomfortable. Kingsley didn't say a word, waiting.
"Stop fucking acting like you know me. You're not Kingsley. You're not. I don't know how you found out about us, and I don't care. Not anymore. I won't kill any more people do you hear me? I won't. So you better kill me now." Gideon loosened his hands.
Kingsley shook his head; eyes stinging with what he thought might be tears. "I can't kill you, Gideon."
"Stop calling me that."
Kingsley raised his right arm, wrapping it around Gideon's forearm. "I don't see a Dark Mark, so I can still call you by the name I remember."
"He's dead, damn it."
"No, he's not, Gideon. I know you feel dead, but I can see you."
Gideon let him go and collapsed on the bed, back to Kingsley. He sat up and looked at Gideon but didn't touch him.
"I remember you. I remember how many freckles are on your back; I remember our vacation to Italy in early 1980. I remember your favorite food and your favorite places to be touched," Kingsley said.
"I lied to you last night," Gideon whispered.
"About what?"
"The loo and the mirror. I did look at myself."
"So? It's only physical…"
"Don't tell me it can be fixed! What I saw in the mirror is nothing compared to what I look like on the inside. I've killed people, more times than I told you about. For food, for their entertainment, for no reason except I was angry."
"It won't be held against you, Gideon."
"I'd rather die," Gideon said abruptly.
Surprised, yet not, Kingsley didn't say anything. What could he say to that? Personally, he wanted a chance to help, but Kingsley realized that after years of torture, some things couldn't be fixed. Like his hands and feet, it was possible that Gideon's mind would always be crippled.
"Who do you want me to call?" Kingsley said.
"Dumbledore."
"Right now?"
Gideon hesitated, "Why do you try?"
"Because I loved you…" Gideon tried to interrupt but Kingsley covered his mouth.
"I know this might not work. I lost you years ago, Gideon, I accepted that. If you need to go now, then go. Don't stay for me and don't stay if you think it can't be fixed."
"Get him on the Floo, tell him I want to meet him in a few hours."
Kingsley nodded then carried Gideon downstairs to sprinkle the powder, calling out Dumbledore's office.
Gideon wouldn't talk to Dumbledore with Kingsley present so he went into the kitchen to heat up more bread and broth. Twenty minutes later Gideon called out to him and Kingsley returned to his side as the fire died, carrying tea.
They sat quietly on the sofa, eating side by side, Kingsley still enough in shock to not realize he was eating something chicken-based.
"I've got two hours, take me back upstairs?"
Without question, Kingsley set the bowls down and carried him. He laid Gideon on the bed and sat next to him. Gideon took his hand and pulled him down until he lay on the bed next to him. Rolling over, Gideon buried his head in Kingsley's chest.
"You were the only one I knew I could never kill. They had me kill parodies of the others, Lupin, Black, Hestia and more. They were Muggles who had been forced to drink Polyjuice potion. They left their dead bodies in my room until the potion faded and I knew what I did. But I couldn't control the urge. Whatever they did to me, whatever potions they gave me; it might have well been the Imperious curse. I could see myself, but I couldn't stop it.
"They never tried you for some reason."
Then last month I finally began fighting the urge. It wasn't working. They should have sent me out a year or two ago and their plan would have worked."
"Their plan?"
"For me to be found and brought to someone in the Order. I couldn’t have resisted the desire to kill them, I would have killed any Order member I saw until someone killed me."
"Even me?"
"They never brought you to me. Either they didn't know you were in the Order, or I hid all my interactions with you well enough."
"Legilimens?"
"He must have been. I thought they were saving you to break me for good. I thought this whole house was a setup for my last test, or my murder. I didn't believe it was really you until after you fell asleep last night."
"What changed your mind?"
"On the dresser, the earring. I saw that your ear was pierced some time ago and then I saw the gold glinting in the moonlight. I read the inscription on the inside and that convinced me. I… I had forgotten until I read it."
Kingsley promised himself that those words wouldn't hurt.
'The Dementor, you see. The first year they subjected me to a Dementor several times. I had to give up your memory to keep you safe. I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize, Gideon. As for the earring, I took it out for the mission. Otherwise I never take it off."
"I don't know what happened to mine," Gideon said.
"It is yours, I kept it. They put it on the body they dressed up as you. I've worn your half for the last sixteen years."
They sat there in silence, Gideon still resting his head on Kingsley's chest, his good hand touching him randomly, drawing patterns across his stomach.
"I don't think I can be fixed."
Kingsley nodded even though Gideon wasn't looking. "I can't lie to you, I don't want you to leave, but it's not my choice. Gideon, this is your decision. I've lived without you. I'll continue to live. Seeing you just gives me even more reason to fight harder. But…"
"Wha?"
"I'd be happier by your side. I love the thought that you and I could be together again."
"As broken as I am?"
"In sickness and in health…" Kingsley bit his tongue.
"What was that?"
"Nothing, Gideon, a Muggle saying."
Gideon kissed Kingsley's chest and didn't speak again. They lay entangled on the bed for another hour. Kingsley had nothing to say; it felt too much like stolen moments, gifts granted by some deity for something he'd done right. He didn't care, as long as they could stay there for a short time, he was content.
Kingsley finally, reluctantly fell back asleep.
~~ * ~~ * ~~
.
A/N: Since it's Halloween, you get to chose an ending for this story:
TRICK
or
TREAT
Word count: 9900
Characters: Kingsley Shacklebolt / Gideon Prewett
Rating: R for subject matter: past rape, mutilation and torture
Author's Notes: Happy Halloween! Thank you, stellastars for the beta; I tinkered with it some more so all mistakes are my own.
Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns these characters and universe; publishing rights belong to Bloomsbury, Scholastic, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. No profit is made from this.
"Won't you take a seat, Kingsley?" Headmaster Dumbledore asked as he sat at his desk.
Kingsley shook his head. He'd caught something a few days ago and had been terribly sick. He leaned against the offered chair and laced his hands behind his back. He was tired, but he'd never been comfortable in the Headmaster's office. Sitting wouldn't change that. Not to mention he was afraid that if he sat, he would fall asleep.
"No thank you, sir, I'm afraid I haven't much time to spare," Kingsley said. It was the middle of the day and he was on a lunch break from work. Dumbledore had sent him an owl early that morning, asking Kingsley to stop by his office as soon as possible.
Dumbledore looked up at him, "This shouldn't take long, Kingsley, but I'd like to ask a few questions."
Kingsley nodded and said, "Of course, sir."
"I have an assignment, but I'm not sure you're the best choice for it. Do you remember your first mission as an official Auror?"
Kingsley involuntarily flinched - as if he would ever forget. He'd finished the three-year course on a Friday in June 1981 and to celebrate, he and Gideon spent the next four days in Italy with his cousin.
They had come home Wednesday afternoon and both men had returned to work on Thursday. Late that morning, an urgent notice came into the Aurors' office, calling Fabian and his team out to investigate a suspected location for Death Eaters. Typically, Gideon sent him an owl if he left with his brother. During those uncertain times, both men were afraid to not let the other know their whereabouts.
Kingsley had gone home late that afternoon, expecting to find Gideon asleep, but he wasn't in their flat. Three hours later, well after he finished cooking dinner, Kingsley had a call from Moody through the fireplace, calling him into work.
There had been several emergency flares from the same location that Fabian had been sent to investigate, Moody had told him. He said he needed all the Aurors he could find quickly to go in and rescue Fabian's team. Still not connecting the two together - Kingsley had been so young then - Kingsley, Moody and four other Aurors Apparated to the general area.
Kingsley shook his head; he didn't want to remember any more, not while Dumbledore was silently watching him.
"Has someone reported suspicious activity there, sir?" Kingsley asked. He remembered the exact location he had found Gideon's body, lying frozen in death, mutilated, in the middle of a graveyard. It was the only possible option for the current mission, or else Dumbledore would have sent him without discussion.
Smiling, Dumbledore nodded, "Yes, for the last two weeks. Two Order members are preparing to visit the area tonight, and I wondered if you might like to accompany them?"
Kingsley accepted immediately.
"Good," Dumbledore said, "If you'll meet Lupin and Jones outside her home at ten o'clock; I'll tell them to expect you."
~~ * ~~ * ~~
Dressing in black jeans, boots and a tee shirt, Kingsley took out his gold hoop and set in on his dresser. He hesitated for a moment before walking away from it, gently touching it. He was getting too old to wear jewelry, yet the thought of permanently removing it tore at his heart.
Hestia and Remus were sitting on her front porch when he arrived, talking like old friends. Kingsley called out, "Hey, neighbors," to warn them he approached and sat down in an empty chair next to Remus. She lived in an area populated with Muggles and preferred no magical theatrics around her neighborhood.
"Now that Kingsley is here, are you ready for that walk?"
Remus nodded. "I'd like that. You're not too tired, are you, King?"
Kingsley patted his stomach, "I ate too much dinner, I need a long walk."
They casually discussed the weather until they cleared the end of the street.
"You remember what it looks like?" Remus asked.
She nodded, "I looked it over this morning, I’m good."
"Kingsley?"
He nodded tersely, of course he remembered.
She led them to a small side street from where they could Apparate. Kingsley waited for both of them before following. He could admit alone in the dark that he was nervous.
~~ * ~~ * ~~
It was dark except for the half moon hanging low in the sky. Kingsley could see Remus to his left and Hestia to his right, both waiting for his signal. Motioning them to move, the three of them slowly advanced through the woods toward the graveyard. Dampening his emotions and memories, Kingsley pulled his wand out and gripped it tightly. His job came first and he wouldn't risk his friends for bad memories.
He couldn't see much in the dark as he crawled forward, but the ground had recently been turned. Soft earth clung to his knees as he crouched behind a large gravestone. Hestia hid behind a large angel, its arms outstretched toward the heavens. He couldn’t see Remus and for a moment Kingsley panicked, afraid he'd find his friend dead.
Shaking his head, Kingsley banished the thought. He didn't like it here but that was no reason to panic like a child. The pale moonlight reflected off the cold stone, giving some light. Shadows played tricks with his eyes, moving among the stones like ghosts, making it hard to distinguish between what was real and what was fanciful as they advanced again.
The house was completely dark; there were no lights and no noises. Remus crept to the front door, Kingsley close behind him. As it swung open at Remus' barest touch, Kingsley tensed, defense spells rattling around his brain. On his knees, Remus curled around the frame, peering inside.
With one hand he motioned Kingsley and Hestia to join him.
"I'll go upstairs," Remus whispered, "Hestia, take this floor and Kingsley the basement." Again, they waited thirty seconds after Remus entered to follow him, Kingsley casting Lumos so he could see.
The house was old, hole-ridden sheets covered bulky furniture. The two chandeliers, one in the foyer and one in the dining room were covered with so many spider webs they looked like giant nests. Every few seconds he heard the creak of floorboards as Remus walked upstairs. Looking down, he carefully stepped around small piles of something on the floor. Most of it looked like decomposed rats or rat droppings. Hestia was going to love this.
He glanced back at her; she followed him until he found a stairwell leading to the basement. She had covered her mouth with a handkerchief, something Kingsley wished he thought to bring. He motioned that he was going downstairs.
The stairs were decrepit, yet clean, which shocked Kingsley. Two steps were missing, one toward the top and the second from the bottom. Raising his wand, Kingsley looked around. The basement was much different from the rest of the house. No moldy sheets permeated the room. The air didn't smell fresh, but it wasn't as stale as upstairs. Clutter was everywhere; old pieces of furniture, broken chairs and empty picture frames littered the floor. Yet, there were no dead animals here. Alert, Kingsley instantly realized that this part of the house was currently in use. Considering the mess upstairs, he doubted any intrepid trespasser would venture this far inside to look.
He recognized much of the visible furniture; it was the same overbearing style as that in the Muggle Minister's offices. Whoever owned this house was Muggle nobility at the least. He didn't see footsteps in the dust, until he leaned over and ran one finger across the floor. There was no dust on the floor. It was clean.
It looked like one large room, but the clutter could easily hide so much. He wandered around carefully, keeping his back to solid walls where he could, but found nothing else until he reached the back of the basement. Behind an upended sofa, he could see a dull light shining through cracks; seams that were the same size and shape as a door.
Whispering Expecto Patronum, Kingsley sent his Patronus upstairs to find Remus and Hestia.
He sat down on the edge of an end table and waited, starting when it creaked beneath his weight. He jumped off the table, wand at the ready, when he heard a moan behind the closed door. He waited in silence, debating the wisdom of entering the room by himself when he heard the second moan. Picturing all sorts of torture devices in his mind, he cast alohomora and burst through the door.
One thin, dirty man was tangled in a pile of ropes; his eyes clenched shut against the light of Kingsley's wand. He wore tattered trousers and not much else. His feet were twisted terribly beneath him and Kingsley wondered if the man could walk. His skin was filthy. Both hands were twisted in the ropes and Kingsley was unsure if he was tied in place or holding himself up.
"Are you all right, mate?" Kingsley said softly.
He didn't speak, but jerked his head.
"I've got friends coming to help. Want me to get you out of here?"
He raised his head; face contorting with obvious fear even with his eyes clenched shut.
"Hey, it's okay, we're here to help. We're not Death Eaters."
The man in the ropes didn't speak, but shook his head frantically. Kingsley hoped his eyes were intact beneath those eyelids.
"No one else," he whispered, voice raspy, broken.
"I already called them, mate, I can't tell them no one is here."
"No one else, I can't see anyone, do you understand?"
"We're not going to hurt you!" Kingsley said snappishly. He was beginning to think the man didn't want rescued.
The man sighed, "I thank you, I do, but it's not safe for me to see anyone."
Watching him closely as his eyes adjusted to the dim light in the room, Kingsley could see the man clung to the ropes, as if he feared to let go. He was trembling like a child, as if he was unable to control his shivers. Something about him seemed familiar… Kingsley ran a list through his mind of missing people, trying to match him with someone he knew.
Kingsley trusted his own instincts and didn't question his fear to see anyone. Instead, he jumped up as he heard them running down the stairs. He snuck out the room and closed the door.
"Look," he said, "there's no dust and no dead rats. The sofa on the far wall looks used. Someone is living here, downstairs, but they're not here now. I say we set up surveillance on the house."
Remus nodded, still whispering, "I agree. There's nothing upstairs. Hestia?"
She shook her head, "I didn't find anything either."
"Let's go then," Remus said, "If you'll suggest to the Ministry that they put surveillance on the house, Kingsley?"
He nodded and waited for them to Apparate. It wasn't a surprise, Kingsley was always the last to leave a room by his choice.
Except that this time, for the first time, he didn't leave. Instead, he hustled back to the room and spelled the door open. The man was still alone and stuck in the ropes, relieving Kingsley's fears that it was a trap.
Kingsley kneeled in front of the man, "They're gone. Now, can I help?"
The man nodded and Kingsley reached out, putting his hand on the ropes next to his arm. He flinched and let go of the ropes - Kingsley's hand must have brushed against him - and held his hand out flat, palm facing Kingsley's face.
Frowning, Kingsley didn't like the niggling feeling in the back of his head that he should recognize this person. No one he knew very well had disappeared recently. "I must remind you," he said. "Not to look at me if my eyes are open." Kingsley nodded even though the man couldn't see it.
"Can you Apparate?" Kingsley asked.
"Doubtful, can you do a side along?"
Kingsley flinched again, "Yeah." He hated when memories of Gideon sideswiped him that way.
"To St. Mungo's?" Kingsley asked.
"No! They'll want to look at my eyes, I can't allow that."
"I'll tell them not to, they'll listen to me."
"No, I said. Is there someplace you can take me that no one will find me?"
Kingsley thought about his grandfather's home. It was empty. Even better was the guesthouse in the far corner of the property. Kingsley often took dates there for the night when he didn't want to take them to his flat. That would work, "Possibly."
Kingsley stood and the man wrapped long, bony fingers around his wrist, pulling himself up. The niggling feeling doubled and Kingsley tried to look closer at him, but when he raised his lit wand, the man flinched away.
"Please, just get me out of here. It's been so long," he whispered.
Kingsley was rarely impulsive at his age but he was unable to ignore that plea. He rarely trusted anyone not in the Order with his life, yet this man brought out the strangest feelings in him. Still, he opted to Apparate to the edge of Southwood's property near the guesthouse. They could walk there easily enough.
He stood still for a moment, head cocked to the side as if smelling the air or listening to the noises of the night. Then the man crumpled to the ground without support as Kingsley let him go without warning, his feet obviously worse than Kingsley originally thought. Without hesitation, Kingsley swept him up in his arms, carrying him inside the guesthouse. The man curled up in a ball, arms folded across his chest, chin tucked inside his hands. "Thank you," he whispered.
Hesitating inside, Kingsley really didn't want to leave him on the furniture, he chose to carry him directly to the loo and lay him on the tiled floor near the bathtub. There were always warm robes here and he Accio'd those as well as two towels. "Stay here," Kingsley mumbled, turning on the water.
He knew that Scourgify would never work, that man had so much dirt and mud layered on his skin he would never be clean. They kept Muggle products here as well, things his family found practical to use and he pulled several out from the cabinet under the sink.
He promised himself that as soon as the man was in the water, he'd send his owl with a letter to Moody and his father. He didn't mind being alone, but it was stupid to not tell someone.
He turned around to find the man had already shed his clothes, lying on the floor. He was curled in a fetal position so tightly that Kingsley could only see his head and shoulders. "The water's ready, mate. Let's go."
He picked his head up and twisted it around, "You really want me to take a bath?"
"Of course I do. You can't sleep on the floor, and you're too dirty to be in the bed."
He laughed harshly, "As if." He quickly tucked his head back in his hands and didn't move.
"What's wrong?" Kingsley asked.
"You really want me to take a bath?"
"Yes."
He unrolled his body and crawled toward Kingsley's voice. "Here," Kingsley said, "Let me help you." Kingsley touched his back and the man collapsed on the ground, limp. Something much worse was going on and Kingsley hadn't figured it out yet.
"What's wrong?"
The man tilted his head up again, "You're new at this, aren't you?"
"New at what?"
"This game all of you play with me. You're new at it."
"Explain yourself," Kingsley said, worry gnawing at him as things began to make more sense.
"First, I think we really left that basement. I'm not allowed to do that and you'll get in trouble for it. Second, you haven't hit me yet, so you're proving yourself soft for a Death Eater. Third, I think you really want to give me a bath and that isn't allowed either. Fourth, you haven't tried to make me open my eyes to see if the conditioning works and whether I'll try and kill you or not."
"Kill me? Conditioning?"
"Stop playing dumb, this isn't a new game ya' know, even if you've bent the rules."
"Listen, this isn't a game, I'm not a fucking Death Eater. We had word that there has been suspicious activity at that house and we snuck in last night to investigate it."
The man slumped on the floor, "You're very convincing, and I don't recognize your voice. Listen, I don't care who you look like with the Polyjuice Potion in you, but I've had enough. Just fucking do what you want to do and send me back home."
Home? "I don't know who you think I am," Kingsley said, "But I'm not a damned Death Eater. I'm an Auror for the Ministry and my name is Kingsley Shacklebolt. If you've been…"
He never finished the sentence; at the mention of his name the man on the floor uncurled, rage contorting his features. "Shut up, shut up, shut up. You bastard!" He launched himself toward Kingsley, swinging wildly, but missed since he hadn't opened his eyes.
Kingsley easily caught him and pinned him to the floor, "Enough of that!" he said, "Why are you attacking me?"
He didn't answer, he laid on the floor, trembling violently, but didn't speak.
"I won't kill you. I won't even try. You bastards haven't broken me that far. Send me home." He pushed himself off the floor with his left hand. His right was still curled beneath him.
Kingsley glanced down at the hand on the floor and gasped in shock. Even the grime and couldn't hide the truth in the shape of those atrophied fingers. The man tilted his head, but didn't speak.
Confused, and even terrified, Kingsley looked closer, trying to see who was beneath all that dirt. His hair was matted to his head, dark brown from dirt, tangled and matted in short clumps. However, his long, narrow jaw matched Kingsley's memory.
Trembling, Kingsley kneeled next to him, reaching one shaky hand out to touch his left earlobe. It was tattered and ripped, as if an earring had been torn out and it never healed properly.
"Who are you?" Kingsley asked softly, needing to hear the answer even if he already knew.
"I don't have a name anymore," The man said tiredly. "I am whoever you wish me to be."
Whatever they had fucking done to Gideon, they would pay, Kingsley vowed. Every last one of them would die a long, terrible death for this.
"I want you to be the man you once were, I want you to be free," Kingsley whispered, assuming Gideon couldn't hear him.
He laughed terribly at that comment, "If you wanted me to be free, you'd kill me. No. None of you want me free. You all know damn well that someone in the Order is alive and free and hiding. I'd find them, and then I'll find an honest Auror and we'll hunt you down and kill you. No, you don't want me free. Now just fucking do whatever you came here to do and send me back."
"Why do you say that?" Kingsley couldn’t imagine what lies they had told Gideon the last sixteen years.
"You think I haven't heard your whispers? You think that I don't know that you won your war? The only reason I'm still alive is because of my conditioning. You want to know it worked and that I'll kill anyone I see."
This was beyond Kingsley's skill. "Alright, I want you to get a bath and get clean. I want you to wash that damn hair of yours until there's no more dirt. I want you to powder yourself with that Muggle flea powder for dogs as well. Then wash again."
Whatever fire had burned in him quickly extinguished. He collapsed in a pile on the floor. "As you wish," he muttered.
Shocked, Kingsley sat in the corner of the loo on a stool, silently watching Gideon do exactly as he ordered. Whoever this man was, and Kingsley knew it was Gideon; he wasn't the fiery, temperamental man he once loved. This man was broken and fixed then broken again. Kingsley could finally see his right hand, with its terrible, twisted fingers that would never be able to hold a wand.
Kingsley didn't know what to do, or how to convince Gideon that he was really free. The thought of conditioning - how the hell did the Death Eaters do that? - terrified him. Would he really try to kill anyone he looked at? Kingsley needed to know more before he risked anyone else's life.
Almost one hour, a half bar of soap, a whole container of flea power and three refills for the bathtub, Gideon was clean. Or almost clean. There was a dirty spot smeared across the middle of his back that he obviously couldn't reach. Kingsley finally moved, padding quietly across the floor, "You missed one spot, may I?"
Gideon - oh, how it hurt to call that man Gideon - froze in the tub. "If that is your wish," he said tonelessly.
Kingsley kneeled behind him, just looking at him. The water, even the third refill, was murky. He had always been thin, but Gideon was painful to look at now; all his bones poked through his skin, his spine was bent as if he wouldn’t be able to straighten it, his left shoulder had an odd angle to it. Kingsley had already seen his right hand and both feet.
He reached around and held his hand out for a rag, but Gideon looked at his hand without moving.
"The washcloth, please?"
Gideon quickly dropped it into his hand, but didn't speak. At least Kingsley knew he could see for sure.
He dipped his hands in the cool water, and unable to resist, pressed one hand softly against Gideon's shoulder blade while washing his back. Gideon didn't react at all to his touch. He didn't move, flinch or lean back into it. Kingsley felt as if his heart might shatter. Either way, with Gideon so docile, Kingsley was unwilling to give up the contact. He scooted closer, his left hand still against his back, his right hand sliding up and down, dipping into the water and rinsing him. "Want me to check your hair?" he asked.
"If you want," Gideon answered. Kingsley tilted Gideon's head to the side so he could see the top of it. Parts of hair were missing, other parts were long, some were short. Most of it was a knotted mess that no amount of washing would fix.
"Are you attached to it?" Kingsley asked.
"To what?"
"Your hair. It would be easier to shave it off and let it regrow."
"If you think that's best."
Kingsley accio'd a razor from the drawer and began shaving it immediately. He cleaned up the sideburns and tufts of hair on his chin. Not that Gideon ever had much facial hair. Gideon didn't move again, even when Kingsley nicked the crown of his head.
The blood ran down his forehead, between his eyes and Kingsley quickly picked up the washcloth and wrung it out, gently wiping his face off. "Sorry about that," he said.
Gideon had his eyes clenched shut again. He didn't answer or respond and Kingsley finally looked at him while he held the washcloth against the top of Gideon's head. He was and wasn't the man Kingsley remembered. Gideon had never been this thin, but his body still looked familiar.
Kingsley was surprised by his anger; for the last sixteen years he'd thought Gideon dead, and lived his life as such. To learn that someone had taken him and obviously tortured him was overwhelming. So many emotions were rushing through him; it was hard to decipher any of them.
"Talk to me," Kingsley demanded, "tell me what happened."
Gideon laughed harshly before answering, "You're pretty emotional for a Death Eater."
"I am not a Death Eater, I said. Tell me why you think they won." Kingsley shook his head, "Wait, first get out of the tub, you're done." He needed warm clothing and food, but Kingsley wasn't ready to say that. He stood up and helped Gideon out. It was easy with Gideon's eyes closed to take a closer look at him.
Dear Merlin, Kingsley thought, What have they done to you? His lower back had been lacerated, even his chest and legs were scarred.
Kingsley lowered him to the floor and wrapped him in a towel, letting Gideon dry himself. As soon as Kingsley sat back on the stool, Gideon turned around so his back was to him.
"All right," Gideon said, "If this is your game I'll play along. I know they won because I've talked to their leaders. I've heard the stories over and over about how the Order members were rounded up and killed, except for a key few.
"Those are the ones I'm to kill on sight. I know this is true because I've done it before."
"Who?" Kingsley asked. He couldn't believe that Prewett killed anyone. During the first war, they often argued about the use of Unforgivable curses. Kingsley believed they were best dead; Gideon didn't believe in them or the use of Dementors to guard Azkaban.
"You're really new at this, aren't you?" Gideon asked, tilting his head to the side. "You almost sound genuine."
"I told you, I am not…" Kingsley sighed then regulated his voice. "Tell me whom you killed," he demanded.
"Dorcas Meadows. Ollivander."
"Why Ollivander?"
"He wouldn't divulge what kinds of wands the Aurors used. They wanted to know in order to make sure nothing happened like what happened before. They wanted to be prepared and force him to make extra wands. He wouldn't, so they killed him."
"Before?"
"Something recently happened involving the Dark Lord and similar wands. I don't know what it was."
"Are you sure it was Ollivander?"
"I saw him."
"I thought you couldn't open your eyes."
"I can't look at any Order members. If I don't see you, I don't want to kill you."
"And what about a former lover? Would you kill him?"
"Him? I don't have any male former lovers."
"You're lying."
"Listen, I know the rules. I don't lie anymore; it's not worth the beating."
"Then tell me the rules."
"Fine, you get to play a Death Eater or an Order member, you command me, I obey your every whim, then I'm locked back up again until the next time."
"You don't obey very well," Kingsley said, ignoring the sick feeling in his stomach.
"You don't like it when I obey perfectly. You like the attitude."
"So why do you do it."
"It hurts less in the end to play along. Which makes a difference to me."
"So, do I seem different this time?"
Gideon didn't say anything until Kingsley spoke again. "Do I? Tell me the truth."
"Yes. You're role is very convincing this time."
"Still, you seem to have an attitude I cannot account for. Have I ever played Shacklebolt before?"
Kingsley was watching carefully and saw Gideon's hand twitch, an old nervous habit he never lost. It was disgusting that Kingsley felt thankful for recognizing something about Gideon.
"No, you have not, but then you rarely play Order members."
"Then open your eyes and look at me."
Gideon shook his head frantically, then felt it with his broken hand, as if he couldn't figure out the baldness at first.
"I just shaved your head, remember?"
"Yes, I remember," he said softly, as if he expected to be punished for that.
"I'm not punishing you, but I want you to look at me."
Gideon shook his head again, fingers gripping the edge of the towel.
"Why won't you look at me?" Kingsley asked, hoping that the Gideon he knew was still in there, somewhere.
He refused to answer, instead curling back up on the floor in a fetal position.
"Gideon?" Kingsley said, "What's wrong? Talk to me, love." He wasn't thinking clearly or he'd never have said that. There was no way that Gideon would believe that he was really Kingsley.
"DON'T CALL ME THAT!" Gideon bounded off the floor naked, eyes still closed, stumbling toward Kingsley. Surprised, Kingsley jumped off the stool and caught him. Fists pummeling his chest, they fell to the floor in a tangle heap, Kingsley twisting so they landed on his back and not Gideon's.
Kingsley laid still and let Gideon hit him. It wasn't like he hit very hard, he had always been right handed and with his mangled hand he couldn’t close his fist to be very effective. Either way, Kingsley knew he'd have some bruises the next day.
"Just kill me. I won't do this anymore," Gideon said, rolling off Kingsley to lie on the cold floor.
Kingsley sat up, wanting to touch him but afraid to. He wasn't sure how to convince Gideon this was for real. He pulled two robes off the sink and wrapped Gideon in them then carried him to a sofa. Lying Gideon on it, Kingsley went to make something simple to eat. And tea - he needed tea. He was sure there would be some sort of broth in stock.
After considering it for a moment, Kingsley walked back out to find Gideon already sitting. "You should lie down and rest."
Gideon turned his head away, unwilling to look at him. Kingsley, pulling his wand out and quietly locked all the windows and doors with a personalized spell that Gideon didn't know. It was a shame to lock him in, but after all those years living in the same place, Kingsley realized that Gideon might try to go back.
He desperately needed to talk to someone, but he had carefully worded his letters to Moody and his father so that no one would interrupt him soon. They both knew where he had gone last night and how it would affect him.
Kingsley glanced at the sofa, all he could see was something huddled under black robes. He rarely used magic to make food, but he cooked the chicken based broth and bread as fast as possible. It seemed that Gideon was asleep, but when Kingsley touched him, he flinched slightly.
"Here, eat," he said. Setting the food down, Kingsley sat in the chair furthest away from him. Gideon flipped the robe over his head until everything was shadowed but his chin. Sitting up he looked around and Kingsley stretched his long legs out so Gideon could see them.
Shaking his head, Gideon folded back into a circle and didn't eat.
"Want me to leave the room?" Kingsley asked.
When Gideon didn't answer, Kingsley stood, making sure to flap his feet on the floor so Gideon would know he left.
~~ * ~~ * ~~
Kingsley ate in silence in the kitchen leaning against the counter. He was so upset that he didn't realize he never sat at the table. He desperately wanted to talk to Gideon and find out what happened. Whom did he bury in Gideon's grave if it wasn't Gideon? Did that mean that Fabian lived as well?
No, there was no way Fabian lived. His head and torso were intact. It was Gideon that was unrecognizable. Yet his wand had been there, the hand attached to it had looked like Gideon's, their matching earring was there. Kingsley had taken it off the dead body in his shock.
Of course, that could explain why Gideon's ear was ripped now. Who took him and held him these sixteen years? Part of Kingsley was convinced that Gideon wasn't real, that if he walked back out there right now, he wouldn't be on the sofa eating.
Why was he sure that he couldn’t look at him? Why did mentioning his name or Kingsley's upset him? Kingsley wanted answers, partially to help Gideon and partially to kill the parties responsible. Even before he saw the scars on Gideon's body, Kingsley knew he'd kill someone for what happened.
He heard something clatter onto the floor and setting his dinner down, ran into the other room. Gideon sat on the floor, frantically scraping up bits of his dinner with his good hand, trying to hold the bowl in place with the other.
Without thinking, Kingsley picked up the bowl and carried it out of the room. He refilled a clean bowl with broth and another large piece of bread then carried it back to Gideon.
And almost dropped the bowl again at the sight in front of him. "What's wrong?" he asked as he saw Gideon splayed across the floor, spread eagled. Gideon didn't speak, didn't move and Kingsley realized he was waiting for punishment.
Falling down into the chair next to the sofa, Kingsley didn't know what to think. He felt his stomach gurgling and ran from the room for the closest toilet.
Wiping his brow, Kingsley tucked his head between his knees. He couldn't fix this, he couldn't. Gideon needed professional help. Of course, that meant he wouldn't see Gideon until he was healed, if ever. If he wasn't shipped to Azkaban for murdering two wizards. If he was repairable by someone who didn't love him.
Which was the crux of the matter; Kingsley never stopped loving Gideon. He'd tried to move on, to date, to fall in love again, but so far nothing worked. Sighing, Kingsley stood up and walked back into the kitchen. He picked up a dry washcloth and some disposable towels.
Dropping them near Gideon's head, he said, "There's your punishment. Clean the food off the floor."
Trembling, stomach still upset, Kingsley curled up in the chair and looked away. He couldn't watch. Singing softly to himself to drown out the noise of Gideon cleaning, Kingsley stopped when he felt a soft touch on his leg.
"Done," Gideon whispered.
Kingsley nodded, but didn't look at him, "Good, now eat the second bowl, and don't spill any of it." Not leaving the room was a punishment of sorts, and the only one that Kingsley could bear. He wanted to make him eat more, but what Gideon already had was most likely a feast to him.
Sick to his stomach still, Kingsley swore to cut the balls off whoever captured Gideon and shove them down his throat until he choked. If the bastard lived, he'd personally watch the Dementor kiss him. Nothing else would be good enough.
Gideon finished the second bowl and handed it back perfectly clean. Shuddering at the thought of that, Kingsley put it in the kitchen. He drank a full glass of water while he debated what to do. The bedrooms were upstairs in the cottage, which meant he carried Gideon. There was only one sofa on this floor, and Kingsley would be damned if Gideon slept on that or the floor. He knew he could Transfigure something, but it felt safer to go upstairs.
"We're going upstairs," he said, scooping Gideon into his arms before he could protest. He stopped near the top of the stairs and set Gideon on the ground by the door to the loo.
"First this. Can you use it on your own?"
At his nod, which Kingsley could barely see through the folds of the hood, he left Gideon alone.
Thankful he had left clothes here the last time he visited, Kingsley changed into a tee shirt and shorts, opting to wear something to bed, which he never did. He remembered the last time he'd been there, with some bird for the night whose name he couldn't remember now. However, he wasn't going to wear nothing around Gideon in this stage. The worst part was that in his flat, he was sure he still had a box or two of Gideon's old clothes. Not that those would fit him now.
Waiting two more minutes, Kingsley finally left the bedroom to find him. Gideon was sitting, still wrapped in the robes, in the open doorway in the dark. "All set?" Kingsley asked.
"Did what I needed," Gideon said
"In the dark?" Kingsley meant it as a joke, the words slipping out before he could censor them.
"Yes, in the dark, not used to lights."
Sitting on the floor next to him, Kingsley wasn't sure what to say.
"Besides, there's a mirror in there. Didn't want to see," Gideon continued very quietly.
"Ehm…" What did one say to that? "I saw your face, it's hallow, caved it, but you still look like… the same."
"Liar," Gideon said.
"I don't lie."
"You just did. They showed me my face and it was horrible. I remember the burning."
The burning? "Take your hood off and let me look."
Gideon shook his head back and forth.
"Close your eyes, damn it, and look at me," Kingsley said.
With trembling hands, Gideon obeyed.
Kingsley reached out to touch him, hesitating a centimeter away. Gideon had no scars on his face, or shoulders. His chest was crisscrossed with thin lines as if someone used a razor-thin whip but even those scars looked like they had been partially healed.
"Your ear is a mess, but there's nothing wrong with your face."
"You lie. Every time they made me look, I could see the scars."
"Then it was a glamour, Gideon, nothing more."
"Aren't you done with me yet?" Gideon whispered.
"Never," Kingsley said emphatically. He could hear Gideon sigh.
"What's wrong? Tell me."
"You're very convincing, not like the rest of them."
"I'm not them," Kingsley stood up and pulled the hood over Gideon's face. Picking him up he carried him to another bedroom and set him on the bed.
"You're breaking more rules, ya' know," Gideon said, "'m not allowed to sleep on a bed."
"I'll break them all before we're done," Kingsley told him.
Kingsley left the room and immediately heard a thud. "The bastard," he mumbled and opened the door again. Gideon was curled up on the floor.
"New rule," Kingsley said striding back in there, "You will sleep on the bed and I will punish you if I find you on the floor." Kingsley pulled the covers back and dropped Gideon back on the bed, then tucked him under the covers.
"Okay," Gideon whispered.
Kingsley closed the door again, waiting for a moment before going downstairs. His head still hurt and felt warm to the touch. He had a potion in the kitchen to take that he'd brought from his flat.
He drank more water and hoped that the headache would break by morning. He needed to be able to focus to help with Gideon. He wasn't that tired himself, but chose to go back upstairs with a book to read.
Falling asleep at the end of the third chapter, Kingsley read the next page then doused the light and curled onto his side. Knowing Gideon was one room away left him lonely. He knew he couldn’t sleep with him, but the desire was there to latch onto him and not let him go. Kingsley was terrified that he'd wake up to find Gideon gone.
Kingsley dreamed restlessly about images of men in masks leaning over Gideon on all fours. They laughed the whole time they hurt him, with barbs or whips or their own bodies. He could see the green light cast by the wands they held enveloping Gideon's writhing body as he screamed.
He couldn't stand it, but he couldn't walk away - not when Gideon had endured so much already. Kingsley was unwilling to leave the room, aghast at the horror until one of the Death Eaters beckoned him to come closer. Unable to control his body, Kingsley walked, stopping behind Gideon.
Covered with blood and semen, Gideon knelt there, silently trembling. The Death Eaters were lost to laughter, pointing at him, tapping whips in their hands, making rude gestures to Kingsley to join the fun.
Shaking his head, Kingsley stepped back, but Gideon himself turned around and grabbed Kingsley's hip, ripping the robe open in front. Gasping, Kingsley tried to move, but someone pointed a wand at him and cast a full body bind.
Except for his cock, it seemed.
Horrified, Kingsley tried to break the bind, but couldn't. He didn't want this, and he definitely didn't want Gideon being forced. Except that Gideon didn't look forced. He had a rapturous look on his face while he watched Kingsley. Grinning, he teased him unmercifully with his tongue while Kingsley watched.
The Death Eaters were laughing, encouraging Gideon to take it all in his mouth. Nodding once, Gideon did, swallowing every part while Kingsley gasped in pleasure, unable to control his desire.
"No!" He yelled, finally waking up. Sitting up quickly, he moaned as he felt his orgasm. Covering his face with his hands, he knew immediately that part of it wasn't a dream.
"Gideon, no, you can't do this!"
Kingsley had dreams for two years after Gideon's death, remembering their life together and how much it meant to him. He would wake up in cold sweats, sometimes he'd wake from orgasms, occasionally in tears, but never, never did he dream of this.
Kingsley roughly pulled him away, ignoring the fact that his cock was still in Gideon's mouth, and pinned him to the bed.
"No, I won't let you do that."
It was too dark to tell if Gideon had his eyes open, but Kingsley took a corner of the sheet and gently wiped his mouth. "No more, Gideon. I can't accept that from you, not like that."
"It's part of the rules," Gideon said, "I have to. If you visit me, I have to."
"Not anymore, Gideon, not anymore."
Kingsley wasn't able to resist any longer, he gently pressed a kiss to Gideon's forehead and pushed him to his side, spooning against his back. He'd called him by his name three times now and Gideon hadn't reacted; it was encouraging.
"Who are you?" Gideon asked, sounding confused and lost.
"Someone who wants to help you, now sleep. And don't try anything sexual again, you hear?" Kingsley couldn't believe that Gideon was still awake. He'd first stumbled upon him in the middle of the night and by now dawn was breaking. Light was barely filtering through the tops of the blinds into the room.
"Why are you doing this?" Gideon whispered.
"Doing what?"
"Being nice to me, acting like you're not a Death Eater, letting me sleep in a bed, holding me like you know me."
"Because once upon a time I loved you," Kingsley whispered, "Now sleep."
Because I still love you.
~~ * ~~ * ~~
Kingsley woke early that afternoon, sprawled across the bed. Confused at first as to where he was, he sat up, rubbing his eyes. His clothes were sticky and he realized that he had another dream about Gideon, one where he had been captured by Death Eaters and tortured for years before…
Whipping around he saw a lump on the bed, curled beneath his old robes.
Caught between the terror that the dream was real and the hope that the dream was real, Kingsley leaned over, softly touching him.
"Gideon?"
He moved but didn't unbury himself.
"Wake up, Mr Prewett," Kingsley said softly, rubbing his shoulder.
"Go away, Imp, 'm tired."
Hope flared as bright as Phoenix fire and Kingsley bit his lip, waiting.
"You'll be late for practice, Gideon, if you don't get up soon."
A mangled hand appeared from under the cloaks, waving him away and Kingsley, thrilled, sat up. He wondered how much work it would be to fix his hand, if someone at St. Mungo's could rebreak it and reset it.
If that was possible, his feet were possible, Gideon might walk with a cane, depending on how bad his feet were broken, but it was possible.
As Gideon withdrew his hand and rubbed his face, he froze beneath the blankets. Thinking about the future, it took a few minutes for Gideon's stillness to register that something was wrong.
"Gid…" Kingsley began to ask when Gideon erupted from his blankets and whirled around, hands wrapping around Kingsley's throat and pushed him down, straddling Kingsley's hips.
"Don't. Fucking. Do. That. Again."
Kingsley could have fought back, he could have tried the one or two words of silent magic he knew, but anything he considered fell to the wayside as he met Gideon's eyes.
Bright blue eyes stared at him, vacant of recognition, of hope. He realized that Gideon might as well be dead. Kingsley saw nothing he remembered of Gideon in that expression. Instead of fighting back, Kingsley went limp, lying beneath him. Gideon wasn't squeezing his neck hard enough to choke him, but it was uncomfortable. Kingsley didn't say a word, waiting.
"Stop fucking acting like you know me. You're not Kingsley. You're not. I don't know how you found out about us, and I don't care. Not anymore. I won't kill any more people do you hear me? I won't. So you better kill me now." Gideon loosened his hands.
Kingsley shook his head; eyes stinging with what he thought might be tears. "I can't kill you, Gideon."
"Stop calling me that."
Kingsley raised his right arm, wrapping it around Gideon's forearm. "I don't see a Dark Mark, so I can still call you by the name I remember."
"He's dead, damn it."
"No, he's not, Gideon. I know you feel dead, but I can see you."
Gideon let him go and collapsed on the bed, back to Kingsley. He sat up and looked at Gideon but didn't touch him.
"I remember you. I remember how many freckles are on your back; I remember our vacation to Italy in early 1980. I remember your favorite food and your favorite places to be touched," Kingsley said.
"I lied to you last night," Gideon whispered.
"About what?"
"The loo and the mirror. I did look at myself."
"So? It's only physical…"
"Don't tell me it can be fixed! What I saw in the mirror is nothing compared to what I look like on the inside. I've killed people, more times than I told you about. For food, for their entertainment, for no reason except I was angry."
"It won't be held against you, Gideon."
"I'd rather die," Gideon said abruptly.
Surprised, yet not, Kingsley didn't say anything. What could he say to that? Personally, he wanted a chance to help, but Kingsley realized that after years of torture, some things couldn't be fixed. Like his hands and feet, it was possible that Gideon's mind would always be crippled.
"Who do you want me to call?" Kingsley said.
"Dumbledore."
"Right now?"
Gideon hesitated, "Why do you try?"
"Because I loved you…" Gideon tried to interrupt but Kingsley covered his mouth.
"I know this might not work. I lost you years ago, Gideon, I accepted that. If you need to go now, then go. Don't stay for me and don't stay if you think it can't be fixed."
"Get him on the Floo, tell him I want to meet him in a few hours."
Kingsley nodded then carried Gideon downstairs to sprinkle the powder, calling out Dumbledore's office.
Gideon wouldn't talk to Dumbledore with Kingsley present so he went into the kitchen to heat up more bread and broth. Twenty minutes later Gideon called out to him and Kingsley returned to his side as the fire died, carrying tea.
They sat quietly on the sofa, eating side by side, Kingsley still enough in shock to not realize he was eating something chicken-based.
"I've got two hours, take me back upstairs?"
Without question, Kingsley set the bowls down and carried him. He laid Gideon on the bed and sat next to him. Gideon took his hand and pulled him down until he lay on the bed next to him. Rolling over, Gideon buried his head in Kingsley's chest.
"You were the only one I knew I could never kill. They had me kill parodies of the others, Lupin, Black, Hestia and more. They were Muggles who had been forced to drink Polyjuice potion. They left their dead bodies in my room until the potion faded and I knew what I did. But I couldn't control the urge. Whatever they did to me, whatever potions they gave me; it might have well been the Imperious curse. I could see myself, but I couldn't stop it.
"They never tried you for some reason."
Then last month I finally began fighting the urge. It wasn't working. They should have sent me out a year or two ago and their plan would have worked."
"Their plan?"
"For me to be found and brought to someone in the Order. I couldn’t have resisted the desire to kill them, I would have killed any Order member I saw until someone killed me."
"Even me?"
"They never brought you to me. Either they didn't know you were in the Order, or I hid all my interactions with you well enough."
"Legilimens?"
"He must have been. I thought they were saving you to break me for good. I thought this whole house was a setup for my last test, or my murder. I didn't believe it was really you until after you fell asleep last night."
"What changed your mind?"
"On the dresser, the earring. I saw that your ear was pierced some time ago and then I saw the gold glinting in the moonlight. I read the inscription on the inside and that convinced me. I… I had forgotten until I read it."
Kingsley promised himself that those words wouldn't hurt.
'The Dementor, you see. The first year they subjected me to a Dementor several times. I had to give up your memory to keep you safe. I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize, Gideon. As for the earring, I took it out for the mission. Otherwise I never take it off."
"I don't know what happened to mine," Gideon said.
"It is yours, I kept it. They put it on the body they dressed up as you. I've worn your half for the last sixteen years."
They sat there in silence, Gideon still resting his head on Kingsley's chest, his good hand touching him randomly, drawing patterns across his stomach.
"I don't think I can be fixed."
Kingsley nodded even though Gideon wasn't looking. "I can't lie to you, I don't want you to leave, but it's not my choice. Gideon, this is your decision. I've lived without you. I'll continue to live. Seeing you just gives me even more reason to fight harder. But…"
"Wha?"
"I'd be happier by your side. I love the thought that you and I could be together again."
"As broken as I am?"
"In sickness and in health…" Kingsley bit his tongue.
"What was that?"
"Nothing, Gideon, a Muggle saying."
Gideon kissed Kingsley's chest and didn't speak again. They lay entangled on the bed for another hour. Kingsley had nothing to say; it felt too much like stolen moments, gifts granted by some deity for something he'd done right. He didn't care, as long as they could stay there for a short time, he was content.
Kingsley finally, reluctantly fell back asleep.
~~ * ~~ * ~~
.
A/N: Since it's Halloween, you get to chose an ending for this story:
TRICK
or
TREAT