Prologue.
Some of you know my name. But only a handful of you know who I really am, and while most of you may not consider me important, I have a story and I'd like to tell it to you.
You all know Harry; The Boy Who Lived, The Chosen One, he probably has more names then that by now. And you know what happened to him. You know that he got married after the second war and he had children, raised his family. You know his dad, James, and what became of him and his friends, Sirius, Remus, Peter and Lily. You know what they went though and how they suffered, some deserving, some not so much.
But what you may not know is that I knew them, too. I was older and while that may seem irrelevant, it's important. You know them, and you know their story. But you don't know about the rest of us. You don't know about me.
I was there, my family and my friends were there and somewhere within the pages that our names were scrawled on, we got lost in the shuffle. We existed but most of you don't remember. Knowing our names does not constitute knowing us. You don't know what our fears were, why we fought in the war and why we didn't. You don't know our trials and triumphs. You don't know us, not at all.
I'm here because we don't want to be forgotten. I don't want to be forgotten.
I wasn't a Marauder and I didn't sacrifice my life for my child, but I lived. Oh, I lived. I had friends and I had a family. I laughed just as much, cried just as often, lost just as many and loved just as hard.
My name is Amelia Bones. I have a story, and I'd like to tell it to you.
Amelia S. Bones
Her hair was short and soft and curled
And his was blonde and ridged
And when the tale of two unfurled
They built and burnt their bridges
Sixteen is too young to give a heart
And seventeen too young to break it
But when the love affair did start
It was surely unrequited
Of notes and books and broken spines
Over drinks to flat to consume
A battle over heartache entwined
Inside this required room
Demons fought and demons born
Their lives remained connected
Through the war of peril, hate and scorn
Their bond was forever erected
Until her death not so long ago
Upon her he would scathe
But all his stone could not contend
The Queen Anne's Lace on her grave
In the walls therein lies a story
Through the plaster and the stones
For too long we have ignored
What happened to Amelia's Bones