Bats Chaser Two (Prompts: 2. (word) crimson, 5. (word) freedom, 6. (word) destiny) Year 854 AD

If You Dare Challenge: 624. Wish

One Million Words Competition: 1,816 words

Freedom

Crimson blood dripped down the side of Shacklebolt Kingsley's mouth.

"You filthy Negro! You do not deserve to be a wizard!" a man snarled, kicking him with all his might. "No, you are not a wizard!"

Kingsley took a deep breath, spitting out some of the blood in his mouth. Should he or should he not hurt this man? No, he shouldn't. He could always just use Petrificus Totalus with wandless magic.

But here in the past… was that a wise thing to do? What if it affected what would happen in the future?

He understood why Dumbledore had warned him against this. But there was nothing else to do. He gripped the Time Turner that was inside a pocket of his robes. His outfit did not fit in with the current wizard wear; he should have thought ahead… well technically, thought backwards, since this was the past.

Shacklebolt Kingsley had come to the past, despite Albus Dumbledore's warnings against it; there were stories of people going into the past, but not going back more than 1500 years. This was very dangerous, and there was also the possibility that he'd never be able to go back.

Of course, when Albus Dumbledore had warned him, it had been ten years ago, back when he'd been alive. During those ten years, Harry Potter had killed Voldemort, Kingsley had become the Minister of Magic, and his wife had died.

But none of that was the reason that he'd come this far to the past. The reason he'd come this far was because of the dying words of his mother.

She'd told him to go to this year, and to say that destiny was awaiting him. He'd gone to Albus Dumbledore with this, and Albus had gotten this sad look in his eyes that he didn't want Shacklebolt to see.

But he had.

He'd ask what it was, but Dumbledore had brushed it off, and told him about the Time Turner. It was like he wanted Kingsley to go, although he knew how dangerous it was.

There were two theories on what would happen to him after he traveled there.

One, people can not time travel into the future, the reason being because the future has not yet happened, and therefore it being impossible to travel to a place where nothing exists and nothing has happened. Therefore, he'd be stuck there until he died.

Two, he'd be able to travel into the future, simply because it wasn't his future, and instead, his present.

The latter was probably not correct, but he chose to cling onto that hope.

And now, he was stuck here, getting beaten up by a white wizard who clearly did not know how to use magic, seeing as he was beating him up physically, and not with magic.

Perhaps, there wasn't as much as advanced spells back in this time. He knew that there would be a lot more discrimination, seeing as slavery was still an issue in this time, but he didn't think it'd be this bad.

He'd seen other black people there, and they were treated terribly; they had no freedom, the only choices they could make were ones that were given upon them by their masters.

There were few black wizards and witches, but they did exist. Most were used as slaves, and did not know how to use their magic, as no one taught them.

Some learned in secret. There was even a rebellion brewing, between the few that were there.

But why was he here, being beaten up by this white wizard? His mother had led him here, but why? Was it to stop the rebellion, or rather to help it?

Was he here to make freedom for the black wizards and witches, or to stop it from happening? The answer seemed so clear to him—to make it; but how could he do something like that?

He would find a way, somehow.

Everything went black, as his head rolled back.

Kingsley woke up, groaning in pain. The bruises and wounds of where he had been kicked were still sore. But where was he?

He tried getting up, but decided to just lie down; his pain was too great.

"Where am I?" he asked aloud.

"You're at our hideout," a cool female voice said.

He tried sitting up, but was interrupted. "Don't try and get up—I doubt you can."

He lay back down. "What hideout? And who are you?"

"We call ourselves the Shadow, ironically to our skin tone. We are one, but we are many. The hideout is where we shelter those who are injured… those like us," she replied.

"How many is 'many'? What do you do?" he asked.

This might be his chance to do his 'destiny'.

"I can not answer both questions, for you might be a spy," she said.

He laughed, and then stopped as he felt his ribs jab into his stomach. "A black spy for the white… I'd like to see that happen."

"It has happened before," she replied coolly.

"Seriously? Then they wouldn't be stupid enough to send another…" he said reasonably.

"Please state who you are," she said, ignoring his previous comment.

"I… can't tell you that," he trailed off.

"Then we can not trust you," she replied.

"Even if I told you, you wouldn't believe me!" he exclaimed angrily.

"Please state who you are," she repeated.

He was silent. "My name is Kingsley Shacklebolt."

She gasped. "Shacklebolt…? You're related to me?"

He bolted up—or tried to. Wheezing in pain, he asked her who she was.

"My name is… Amy Shacklebolt…" she said.

"Will you please accept me into Shadow? I want to fight for us, too," he said.

"But how did you know what we did?"

"That was merely an observation to your papers on your rebellion," he said, gesturing to the table beside him. "Besides that—I know magic, and I am probably better than all of the white wizards."

"And how would that be possible? They don't teach us any spells, so the only magic we know are the ones we've heard being said and practiced secretly and taught one another," Amy said.

"I know spells that haven't been invented yet," he mumbled under his breath. "Just trust me, okay?" he said so that she could hear.

"We'll need to test you out… have you go against one of our best, just to make sure what you're saying is true," Amy explained.

"When can I start?" he grinned.

"As soon as you heal," she said promptly, reminding Kingsley that he was too sore to do anything.

They probably didn't have any healing ointments—those were expensive, especially back now; and no one would sell them to Negroes.

The man in front of him held a battered wand, but was smiling. As if he could easily beat anyone here… but Kingsley knew he could win.

"And ready… set… go!" Amy said.

Expelliarmus! Kingsley nonverbally thought in his mind.

The other wizard's wand flew into his own. The man stood in shock.

"What was that?" the man asked. "Please teach it to me!"

The watching wizards and witches nodded eagerly. They were eager to learn.

"Disarming spell. You say it ex-pell-i-ar-mus, and whatever the opposing person is holding, in this case a wand, comes to you," he said. "Why don't you practice it on each other: those of you who have wands?"

The few wizards and witches with wands started eagerly—some were successful, and others not.

Amy came to him in awe. "How did you know that?"

"I… have my ways," he said, smiling. "Do you think I should teach them other things, too?"

"That would be great! You know… you've really brought some hope to this community," she said, smiling. "Thank you."

"It's nothing," he said. "Nothing at all."

He stayed there for three more weeks, teaching them spells that they didn't know and evaluating them on how good they were. Most were quite good, and learned the spells after a few tries.

After the three weeks, he asked them a question that he'd always wanted to know.

"When is the rebellion to be planned?"

Amy and the others grinned. "Tomorrow."

Kingsley Shacklebolt was ready. Whether he died today or lived today did not matter; this was his destiny.

He was the one to back everyone up: they trusted their lives with him.

He was on a broom, flying undetected behind them as they crept their way to Diagon Alley, which surprisingly, still existed.

This was where the action would take place.

There they went, stupefying and—when suddenly, Dementors appeared. The black wizards and witches screamed in fear as they backed away.

Kingsley had not told them how to defend themselves against Dementors, for who knew that Dementors would appear? Trailing far behind the Dementors, there was the white man that had beaten him up, among others.

Expecto Patronum! He thought of the happiest memories he had, with his mother and his wife. He thought of being in the Burrow, surrounded with members of the Order eating dinner, with James, Lily, Remus, Sirius…

Expecto Patronum! He thought of when he realized that he could first do magic, when he was six and had made the cup break without touching it.

Expecto Patronum! He thought of becoming a professor at Hogwarts, and teaching students, helping them become successful. He thought of when he had retired from that, and students had cried and told him to stay.

The Dementors had disappeared. He flew with his broom down, ready to face the white men straight on. Now that they had no Dementors to hide behind, they didn't look so brave.

"Stupefy!" he called, and a chorus of different hexes and curses went from behind him, sparks flying to the white men, as they stumbled to get their wands.

"Avada kedavra!" One of the men shouted, barely missing Kingsley.

"Protego!" he shouted, blocking some of the curses from the other men.

It was then that he saw something flying towards him. A curse, he thought, as it landed on his chest and hit him.

He staggered to the ground. The wizards and witches behind him stopped in their paths, but he motioned for them to keep going. They nodded, and rushed passed him.

He gasped for air, but knew that it was too late.

Amy rushed towards him. "Are you okay?"

"No, I'm not okay," he laughed weakly. "I'm going to die."

"No, you are not!" she exclaimed.

"Tell my story to them," he said.

"To who?"

"To your descendents. Tell them about a man named Kingsley Shacklebolt, who came from the future. Tell them about how he came to the past because it was destiny. Tell them about how he helped the path of freedom," he said.

"Tell them about a man named Kingsley Shacklebolt, who tried his best."

A/N: That was probably the worst fic I've ever written in my life. I apologize.