InsaneJournal

[Ficlet] As If (Kingsley/Sirius, PG)
Title: As If
Author: Envinyatar (aka envinyatar15)
Pairing: Kingsley/Sirius
Rating: PG
Warning: character death
Word Count: 933
Summary: Sometimes Kingsley still thought about him.

Notes: Written for lyric_ficathon, prompt: Does it always have to come down to you leaving before I’ll say “I love you”? Beta'd by chaotic_vanity. Originally posted here, June 9, 2006.

For potterverse100: #34 past.


Sometimes Kingsley still thought about him. Sometimes an image of him came up from the depth of his mind in sleep; sometimes he remembered a certain situation all of a sudden in his waking hours after he had come back from his work at the Ministry.

Sometimes Kingsley couldn’t help it but mourn for the way they had been separated. So brutally, without any chance to say goodbye. As if they hadn’t deserved anything; as if Kingsley hadn’t cared enough for Sirius; as if he hadn’t loved him at least as much as Harry or Remus or anyone else did, or probably more.

As if.

It’s been two years since Sirius’ death at Bellatrix Lestrange’s hands, two years since he fell through the veil in the Department of Mysteries. Two years, and Kingsley - although usually the unemotional one, the one who didn’t show his true feelings, the one who wasn’t readable at all but closed off - still thought about him. Usually he was able to avoid thinking about what had once been, losing himself in his work… but whenever the memories of Sirius came back to him, he was left helpless. The images were playing over and over again in his head, and he couldn’t make them stop, as much as he tried to. The pain he felt won against his defences.

He had never learned how to deal with emotions so strong as this one - love. He hadn’t even confessed to Sirius just how much the man had meant to him. He had been scared of his feelings, unknown to him as they were at that time. So how was he supposed to deal with this strong sense of something being amiss if he hadn’t even been able to voice his love for Sirius when he had still been alive? How was he supposed to deal with his yearning for Sirius – how was he supposed to fill the emptiness inside him? Kingsley didn’t know. He didn’t know why he was still thinking about the past, and he didn’t know how his inner turmoil could be cured.

As if it could be cured, you fool, Shacklebolt. As if.

The answer was, it couldn’t be cured. Of course it couldn’t. Love wasn’t just something that could be taken care of with a spell, or a potion, or anything, really. And because at one point Kingsley realised exactly this, he threw himself into work; it was the only thing left he knew how to do. Not thinking about the past lessened the pain. It became bearable. Most of the time.

Kingsley worked with a passion and soon became the most successful auror, but also the most feared one. He was obsessed, they said, obsessed with rectifying the mistakes made by Fudge as the former Minister for Magic denied the comeback of You-Know-Who, obsessed with hunting down the remaining Death Eaters. But of course that wasn’t the real reason, and not many bought that explanation anyway. Nobody knew him. He was an enigma, even more disclosed from his colleagues than he had been before Sirius’ death. They couldn’t guess as to what had caused this sudden change in Kingsley’s behaviour, but this didn’t hinder them from noticing it. There had been rumours flying around; people wondered, tried to guess, but in the end, they gave up on the matter, seeing that he crawled back into himself more if they tried to speak with him.

Kingsley was pleased with this development. He didn’t want to talk about Sirius under any circumstances. Albus’ knowing and pitying glance was enough.

Sometimes, when Kingsley was lost in memories, he locked himself up in his bedroom, not wanting to see or speak to anyone. He craved the stillness and loneliness, from time to time. Perhaps he didn’t know how to deal with his yearning, but he sure as hell needed some time out when the pain became too strong to bear, and since he almost never took a day off from work he could do this once in a while without too much regret lasting on his shoulders later on.

Sometimes in his grief, Kingsley thought it had all been Sirius’ mistake. He faulted him for going before Kingsley had been able to realise just how much the other man had meant to him; faulted him for leaving before Kingsley could utter the three most magical words - “I love you.”

Sometimes in his grief, Kingsley thought it had been his own mistake. He faulted himself for not realising his feelings for Sirius sooner. Perhaps, if he had told Sirius of his feelings, he would have stayed behind on that fateful day.

Sometimes in his grief, Kingsley thought it had been Dumbledore’s mistake… sometimes Potter’s, sometimes all the world’s.

As if it was the mistake of any of them.

But in the end, it didn’t matter whose mistake Sirius’ death – these words were still difficult to say, difficult to think – had been. He was dead all the same, and it had been Lestrange’s wand that had sent him flying backwards through the veil. That was a fact, at least, and with facts Kingsley could deal.

Sometimes Kingsley still thought about him. Sometimes an image of him came up from the depth of his mind in sleep; sometimes he remembered a certain situation all of a sudden in his waking hours after he had come back from his work at the Ministry.

And Kingsley didn’t honestly believe this would change any time soon. In fact, he didn’t quite want his memories to go away.

As if they ever would.