Author's Note: This was written for the Woman in Black challenge at the Harry Potter Challenge Forum.
She sat on the end of the bed. Her cool, grey eyes watched the door as if, at any second, it might explode. Like stone, her expression was grey and set. Her mouth twitched occasionally, as if going to smile or cry, but she soon tamed the emotion. Her greying blonde hair fell across her forehead and, with an elegant, shaking hand, she brushed it back. She returned the hand to her lap, where she was tapping her wand in a threatening manner. A black dress hugged her angular frame, intensifying her pale skin.
It was a formal dress, quite short, not something you would normally catch Amelia Susan Bones wearing. However the situation was not one Amelia was particularly accustom to either. She was alone. Of course that wasn't unusual. Amelia didn't really get close to people if she could help it. The more you cared, the more you had to lose. No, it was not unusual that she was alone. But alone, in her best dress, in a locked room was not an everyday occurrence in the life of Ms Bones.
The door was locked. The door was definitely locked. She had got up several times to check it, just to be certain. Not that it actually gave her much assurance. The people she wanted to keep out weren't going to be deterred by a locked door.
Amelia Bones was a hunted woman. Being a powerful witch in her position, she'd known it wouldn't be long before they turned on her. The Ministry was going to fall, sooner rather than later she suspected. Scrimgeour was a sound enough leader (better than that bungler Fudge) but even he wouldn't be safe if enough people converted to the Death Eaters. Amelia wouldn't turn, she knew it, the Death Eaters knew it and that was why she was sitting in her cage, an animal waiting for the hunters. Waiting for the hunters, to come and kill her.
She could've run. Maybe she should've. The thought occurred to her as she checked the door for the seventh time and she was quick to dismiss it. No. She, Amelia Bones, did not run. She didn't want to die and she was going to try her damnedest to make sure she didn't, but, if this really was to be her last night on earth, she was going to go out on her own terms.
Her own terms meant that she was at home, preferring to be some place familiar if she was to meet her maker. Her own terms meant that she had discarded her normal robes for her black dress. The dress made her feel confident and powerful in a way that only beautiful women in beautiful dresses can feel. The world of politics has always been male dominated and, wearing that dress, Amelia had walked over all of them. And, if she was to get her own terms, she would walk over her enemies as well.
For the briefest second, Amelia allowed her eyes to close. As she did so, the sound of shouting voices and breaking furniture reached her ears. They were here. She got to her feet, almost warily, and she stood, feet firmly planted, with her wand aimed at the door. The sound of footsteps got louder and closer. A cold, high pitched voice murmured something Amelia couldn't make out. She tensed, waiting for her fortress to be broken.
A series of loud cracks told her that they were Apparating inside. They also told her that there were a great many more people than she had anticipated. As cloaked figures began to materialize around her, Amelia thought:
I'm going to die. Alone. In a locked room.