A/N: This is OiSM-compliant (consider it a companion piece), and was written for a challenge. The challenge was to involve politics in a 1000-word story, give or take five words. I have named Susan Bones's father "Geoffrey". The reason has to do with the etymology of Amelia's and Edgar's names.

December 26, 1981

Twenty-three year old Amelia Bones had always dreamed of doing great things with her God-given magical talents. By her fourth year in Hogwarts, her dreams solidified into the goal of an appointment to the prestigious Wizengamot from which she would better the world with sound reason and logic. Since her graduation five and a half years ago, Amelia had worked under Bartemius Crouch, the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She'd watched the odd blue blood with exceptional family connections race past her – to be fair, the ones who were favoured were gifted and exceptionally rare – while she toiled and networked and wished for a Time-Turner just to get a few hours of sleep.

This was such a shitty way to get recognition for endless hours of hard work. Stephen Greengrass, four years her senior in school, was thrown off the Wizengamot early the previous month. His crime? Advocating the accused murderer Sirius Black's right to a fair trial before being tossed to the Dementors in Azkaban. Sirius's youngest cousin Bellatrix and three of her cohorts were given a show trial yesterday; that had been the last straw for Bellatrix's eldest sister Narcissa, who resigned from her post on the Wizengamot in protest at the tender age of twenty-one. Amelia personally thought that was a stupid choice, albeit one she could understand. The Wizengamot may have expelled a Greengrass, but they would never remove a Black – Malfoy, as of right after she finished school – so why would she waste the slimmest chance to make her voice heard? Her annoyance as she used her wand to force a stray curl into her katyusha headband caused the spell to backfire – her light brown hair became an appalling violet colour.

Amelia cursed under her breath as she restored her hair's natural colour and manually fixed her headband. A young man she vaguely recognised as a Patil gave her a look of alarm. She was going to snap at him until she remembered that he'd lost both his elder brother and his younger sister during Amelia's term as Head Girl at Hogwarts. "Excuse me," she muttered, going on her way.

All too soon, she was sitting down before her boss Crouch in his office. "Bones. Do you know of the trial yesterday – the one attended only by department heads, Aurors, and the Wizengamot?"

"Yes, sir. It was for Madam Malfoy's younger sister, was it not? It was for Bellatrix and the Lestrange brothers and another companion, was it not? They were on trial for torturing Frank Longbottom and his wife into insanity." The show-trial would have been skipped over entirely with fewer blue bloods. Amelia shook her head, "It's quite jarring that though He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is now gone, people are still in danger, even Death Eaters' families."

Crouch frowned. He'd taught everyone in his department not to see Dark Witches and Wizards as they had been in school. "The last defendant was my son." He ignored Amelia's sharp intake of breath, "I will be transferred to another department today. The Ministry cannot remove me entirely, but they can and they will shove me out of their way. It will be all over the Daily Prophet tomorrow." He paused, and looked at Amelia for once with what might even be called empathy. "You have my condolences for your loss. Your mother was somewhat good at piano, and Edgar was one of my best subordinates, though he certainly lacked your raw power."

Yes, Amelia thought, it was just like Crouch to make simple facts, even compliments, blunt enough to be insults that cut away at her heart. "Thank you, sir."

"And Geoffrey's Quidditch career has just taken off so splendidly too..."

Crouch did not pay much attention to anything except his work catching the next Dark mage, but it was uncharacteristic of him to mix up the victims of Death Eaters. She chalked it up to the stress of what would soon be a loss of reputation towards all of magical Britain and the job he had worked for all his life.

"I have sent your resume to Griselda Marchbanks. Do you remember her from your NEWTs? She remembers you. From now on, she will guide your career. There will be a power struggle within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; do not get involved. I am putting you into the field as a Hit Wizard. Your skill will protect us all, so use it to apprehend many Dark Wizards. Build up a decent record, and Madam Marchbanks will sponsor your advancement. The openings in the Wizengamot will not be filled quickly, but you have no time to waste. The Ministry wants young, zealous, talented blood, preferably from a good family. Excel, Bones, and you will find a seat for you."

Amelia understood. She had just lost her parents, her eldest brother, and his entire family including the adorable Crup who had just had his tailed removed. Crouch expected her blood to be boiling, and for her to turn her wand fervently against the Dark Arts. Born to a small but respected pureblood House, she was Crouch's best hope of continuing his work.

Minutes later, as she left Crouch's office, she nearly ran into a young woman who was pacing just outside his door.

"My apologies, ma'am!"

Since working as a lowly assistant five years ago, Amelia had rarely been addressed as "ma'am". Her eyes caught red-gold hair pulled back into a long ponytail away from the face – if the distinct hair colour didn't make it obvious, the cheekbones did. "Andromeda Black!"

Andromeda wore a Stepford smile. "Hello, Miss Bones."

A moment passed in uncomfortable silence. Amelia noted that the arrogant girl who had given her so much trouble in school seemed mellow – a side-effect of marrying Ted Tonks, she supposed.

"Were you going to?" Amelia tried to ask.

"That was my intention. I'm a fool, aren't I?" Her smile turned poignant.

Attempting unfeasible plans to save a sibling doesn't make one a fool; being someone else's plaything does.

A/N: Please leave me any feedback you would like to. I'll take flames, but I'd rather have constructive criticism.