Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter… and she makes a lot of cash off of him. I do not own him, and I am not making money off of him, so I'm hoping she doesn't mind me writing a couple stories about the lad. If she says to, or if anyone she knows says to, this story is GONE without question.

Amelia Bones' Last Dance

By Random1377

Amelia Bones leaned back in her overstuffed easy chair and tilted her head to one side, listening appreciatively to the opera music coming from the old-fashioned muggle phonograph on her living room bureau. She waved a finger in the air, imagining that she was conducting the England Philharmonic and lamenting the fact that too many of her fellow witches and wizards were so prejudiced against anything muggle that they could not even appreciate their music.

Such a pity, she thought, reaching for a small glass of elven mead placed within easy reach. At times like these, anything that raises a person's spirits should be welcomed. Perhaps Cornelius should have taken more notice of the reports that Dementors refuse to come anywhere near auditoriums or playhouses that are running comedies and musicals.

She considered sending a modified howler to Arthur Weasley – not a loud one, of course, but one loaded with the fine music she was currently enjoying. It would tickle Arthur, she knew, to know it was muggle-made and reproduced on a muggle device.

Ah Arthur… such a pity you married so beneath yourself.

Amelia did not have anything personal against Molly Weasley, per se, but she did find herself rubbed the wrong way by homebody types who were more interested in clean sheets and sweater knitting than the more important and interesting aspects of magic. Of course there was a time and place for that kind of thing, but wizards like Arthur, whom Amelia had known for quite some time, would be better suited with witches that shared more of their interests – and Arthur was ever so enthusiastic about his pursuits.

She had danced with him once, a long, long time ago. Amelia loved to dance, and had been quite good at it in her younger days, but she could not recall the last time she had stepped out onto the floor and feared (with some accuracy) that it had been when she had danced with Arthur.

Mm, she thought, taking another sip of her mead, past is past… isn't that the old saying? No use crying over spilt milk and all that.

Amelia reached for the phonograph, lifting the needle from the vinyl and turning off the power as she glanced over at the clock on her mantelpiece.

Four minutes until midnight, she mused. It's almost the witching hour. Muggles are so funny – as if any hour was more magical than any other. Such strange people, muggles.

Setting her glass next to the gramophone, she stretched, wondering if the poor muggles had the faintest understanding of what was going on in the wizarding world. Fudge had done his best to keep tabs with the muggle prime minister and suppress the truth of what was happening, but Amelia (like Arthur) had always been of the opinion that they should know the truth of things.

How can people defend themselves if they don't know there is something to defend themselves against? she thought angrily. We don't ask our kind to try to fly brooms with blindfolds on, so why-

Her thoughts were interrupted by a polite knock on her back door.

"Now who would be calling at this hour?" she wondered, cautiously pulling her wand out of her work robes – still on after a long day at the office – and moving stealthily to the door.

Tentatively, she pulled the blinds on her little door open… and immediately gave a sharp cry, falling backward into the kitchen as the door was blasted from its hinges, flying into the room in a million tiny fragments as a figure in a jet-black robe strolled casually into the house.

"Good evening!" the intruder called jovially. "I hope you don't mind that I let myself in, but you were taking so dreadfully long."

"Y…you…!"

Even the head of the Department of Defense dared not speak the Dark Lord's name aloud.

"Me," Lord Voldemort confirmed, offering a mock bow as the woman scrambled to her feet. "I don't believe we've ever met," he said thoughtfully, "though I could be mistaken. I meet so many people, you know – so many interesting people it's hard to keep them all straight."

He gave her an indulgent smile as she leveled her wand at him.

"Yes, yes," he said, sounding bored to the point of tears. "Now the proud declaration, now the words of false bravery, now the announcement that I shall not have what I came for, when we both know I will. Do try to be original, Bones, for my sake? No? Very well, then I suppose-"

Hoping to catch him off guard, Amelia shouted the first curse that came to her mind.

"Stupefy!"

"Bah!" Voldemort roared, barely flicking his wand to dispel the attack. "Parlor tricks! This is what I came for? This is what my best Death Eaters feared? THIS?"

Amelia spun on her heel, whipping through the kitchen door as the Dark Lord unhesitatingly let loose with the Killing Curse. Emerald light splashed off of the swinging door, shattering the wood and making her spine tingle as she hurtled through the living room.

Turning back to the kitchen, she flung out her right hand, targeting the doorframe as Voldemort stepped through it and hollering, "Verdieus!" at the top of her lungs.

In the blink of an eye, the once-dead wood of the doorframe sprang to life, shooting branches from one side of the opening to the other – several of which rammed themselves violently through Voldemort's body.

"Yes!" the Dark Lord cried, wrenching himself free of the encroaching branches as if he found them no more annoying than a buzzing gnat. "Yes, yes, yes! That's it! Show me all the power you hold! Come now, Bones – come dance with me!"

Amelia bolted once more, throwing herself to the floor as another curse slammed into the wall just over her head. Gritting her teeth, she rolled onto her back, pointing her wand at the ceiling as she muttered, "Expeliarmus!"

It was an unorthodox attack, but Amelia had not stayed alive as long as she had by being an orthodox fighter. The spell found its mark, smashing into the chain holding her ornate chandelier to the ceiling and severing it at the base, sending it to the floor in a cacophonous explosion of shattering glass and metal.

Voldemort was nearly ecstatic with glee. "Oh, I like that – very inventive!" he chortled, waving his wand and clearing the debris from the path in front of him as Amelia scrambled to her feet and sprinted to the stairs, taking them three at a time as the evil wizard uttered a high, shrill laugh. "Moving to higher ground, eh?" Voldemort shouted, bounding across the living room as Amelia reached the top of the stairs. "Tactically advantageous… in open terrain."

The Dark Lord thrust his wand forward and muttered a curse – and the entire length of the banister turned into a gigantic black mamba, hissing as it came to life and struck out at Amelia as she darted down the hall, its huge fangs snapping the air mere inches behind her fluttering robes.

Without looking back, Amelia stuck her wand over her shoulder and murmured, "In flam grav por!"

A ball of fire the size of a dinner plate burst from the tip of her wand, hitting the floor several feet to the left of the snake and blowing it – and most of the upstairs landing – cleanly in two.

Voldemort cackled at the wholesale destruction, waving his wand and vaporizing the remains of the snake. "I hope you're not thinking of taking the back stairs," he called conversationally, "I would hate for you to stumble into the group of dementors that came with me. It's not that I want them hanging around, you see," he added dryly as he casually marched up the stairs, "distasteful creatures, in my opinion, but they just seem to follow me wherever I go." He grinned suddenly. "For some odd reason, they seem to think that people will be unhappier when I'm around. Tell me, Bones… should I be offended, or complimented?"

Reaching the top of the stairs, he turned the corner.

"It's not that I-"

"Cruc-"

"I think not!"

Amelia's concentration was shattered by the Dark Lord's roar, and she turned tail once more, darting through the second floor hallway and all but diving into the bedroom as Voldemort practically screamed with laughter, hurling a Cruciatus of his own almost as an afterthought, though it went wide and slammed into the wall five feet from the bedroom door.

"Too slow, Bones!" he chortled. "I'm afraid I've a bit weary of this game, however –particularly your repeated interruptions – so I hope you don't mind if I bow out… or rather, if I bow you out. You held yourself wonderfully, Bones – wonderfully! I'll make sure your name is mentioned with honor when they read the announcement of your death."

Amelia wrinkled her nose in disgust. There was no time… no time at all. Any second, the Dark Lord himself would be coming through her door, and no matter how strong the defensive spells she had placed on them in preparation for just such an event were (and they were among the best she knew) they would not hold him for long.

There was time enough, she thought desperately, for two more spells… just two, crucial spells.

"Deprotegus!"

In the blink of an eye, the anti-apparition wards protecting her house unraveled, leaving the place wide open to anyone that wanted to come in… but Amelia was not trying to make her house more accessible to any potential saviors, she had something far more important in mind.

"This will hurt," she panted to the room's other occupant, wiping sweat off of her face with the sleeve of her lavender robe. "I can't help that – you have to understand that I can't help that… but there's no time for anything else, do you understand? If I disapperate myself, he'll be able to follow the apparition trail and catch us, but if it's just you…"

Terrified blue eyes regarded her from just above the covers. "But Auntie, I can-"

"Knock, knock!" Voldemort shouted merrily. "Little pig, little pig, won't you let me come in? Do you like muggle nursery rhymes, Bones? I've never been a fan, myself, but I know you favor anything to do with those filthy little worms." There was a perfunctory thump on the bedroom door. "Best prepare yourself, Amelia," the Dark Lord whispered, "I'm starting to huff."

Time was up. Raising her wand, Amelia cast, drawing the first, reasonably safe location that came to her mind and concentrating with all of her might on the simple, but immensely draining incantation required to apparate another.

"Disapperate Susan locus GRIMMAULD PLACE!"

With a soft pop, the bed was emptied, her visitor's cry of dismay echoing in the air even as another pop sounded just behind Amelia's trembling back.

"Godspeed," she whispered, bracing herself for the inevitable as the drain of the spell made her weak in the knees. "Take care of her for me, Arthur."

"Ahh," Voldemort's voice hummed, tickling the hairs on the back of Amelia's neck as the tip of his wand pressed against the base of her spine. "Nobility truly makes my heart swell, Bones. Such a pity she will be mine someday – they all will, you know… all the little lambs out there will come to my fold eventually, be it willingly or by force. That is the nature of power, you see, for-"

Amelia spun on her heel, dropping down to one knee and thrusting her wand up against the Dark Lord's stomach. "AVADA KEDAVARA!"

Green flashed from the tip of her wand, driving deep into the flesh and sending the sickening stench of death up into the air… but the Dark Lord simply smiled, reaching down and snapping her wand cleanly in two as he gazed down at her with his wicked, slitted eyes.

"Nobility," he repeated softly. "To be honest… I lied just now – nobility makes me… rather ill."

Amelia saw his lips move, though the rushing in her ears prevented her from hearing the actual words… and abruptly the world was filled with sparkling, emerald green.

Voldemort glanced around the room as the body sagged to the floor, but the apparition trail had vanished. He would not be able to follow the woman's niece to whatever supposed safe haven she been sent to… but it didn't matter. The Dark Lord believed that what he had told the woman would come to pass.

"All of the little lambs shall come unto me," he whispered, toeing the corpse off of his foot with a dispassionate expression. "It is only a matter of time. Farewell, Bones – it was a lovely dance."

With a mock bow, he disapparated, leaving nothing behind but pain, sorrow, and another name to be added to the already long list of those who had died by his hand.

The End

Notes: There is mention, in book 6, of side by side apparition, but I don't think it's ever mentioned anywhere if someone can apparate someone else, and from all I've seen it is not possible, since it is normally necessary for the apparating party needs to think of the location they want to travel to (determination, destination, and dedication and all that). The bit about apparition trails is made up, but there is a scene (again in book 6) where Dumbledore immediately disapparates after someone else, and it is hinted that he was going after them – which should not be possible unless there was some kind of trail. Or at least, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

This story was pre-read by Israfel, since he was the only person I could find familiar enough with Potter to correct the assumptions I've made. Big thanks for his input.