House: Hufflepuff
Position: Muggle Studies
Drabble
Prompt: [Character] Amelia Bones
Word Count: 908 [Google Docs]
July 9th 1996
Amelia Bones lifts her head from her desk and squints at the clock on the wall. The room is already dark, lit only by the one oil lamp next to her ink pot, so she doesn't need to see the numbers to know that, yet again, she has worked well past her allotted hours.
She rubs her eyes then stretches her fingers out over the heavy oak, letting them drift across the scratches and markings until, finally, she locates her wand. With a flick, the many pieces of parchment littering the surface starts to pack themselves away into the old rusting filing cabinet in the corner of her room. She will have to finish her final rulings on yet another Muggle baiting case tomorrow. If she doesn't leave now, Amelia would likely fall asleep at her desk, and she doesn't need to add a crick in her neck to the long list of worries currently on her shoulders.
Stretching, she slips her feet into her heels and gathers her belongings, throwing her robes over her shoulders as she leaves her office, the oil lamp extinguishing as she locks the door.
It doesn't take her long to reach the fireplaces that will take her home—the Ministry is almost empty now. She takes a handful of powder then steps into the grate, letting the emerald green flames wash over as she speaks her address clearly, despite her fatigue. The only thing on her mind is the thought of a bath and a nice glass of wine waiting for her as soon as she gets home.
⁂
When she arrives at her small cottage, Amelia knows something is wrong. Usually, her cat Morag is there to greet her. The house is dark and too quiet; the air is charged with electricity, sending goose pimples down her arms.
Her fingers seek out her wand again, this time pulling it from its holster. Her bag drops to her feet on the floor, and she pushes her travelling robes from her body. She doesn't need them getting in the way. The chance is high that she'll need to fight tonight. Amelia checks that her wards are still up and her doors are locked, even though she knows they're pointless now.
"Protego." Madam Bones casts the shielding charm as a red light flies towards her. The curse bounces off her charm and hits the wall above the mantelpiece, shattering the antique mirror that hangs there.
She can't see her assailant, but she knows he's there.
Already tired from a long day, Amelia focuses on defending herself instead of trying to fight back. Curses continue to crash against her shield, producing a dark rainbow of colours and clouding her eye line. At every pause, she drops her guard long enough to throw a defensive spell back towards where she thinks her attacker is waiting as she retreats from the front room and towards the kitchen, trying to put as much distance between them.
A ferocious blast smashes into her beloved Welsh dresser, causing pain to shoot through her heart and a wail to escape her lips. Losing her last family heirloom distracts her long enough for her attacker to disarm her. Amelia's wand travels in a high arc, only to be caught by a pale hand.
"I've been waiting a long time for you to turn up, Madam Bones." The words take her by surprise. They are snake-like, sliding out of the wizard's mouth like a coiled serpent. The 's' of her name carries on long after the speaker stops.
The moment has come. Amelia knew she would be at risk the moment she learned he had returned. She held one of the highest positions in the Ministry, the next step towards Minister of Magic, so, of course, she was a target. Her position in the Wizengamot means she has put many dark wizards into Azkaban, so she expected this day to come.
But she isn't scared.
Instead, she pulls herself up from the wall, her fists clenched at her sides. She takes pride in the fact that he has to come to deal with her himself. It means she is a threat. Amelia steps forward until she is face to face with her killer.
"Voldemort. You may think you have the upper hand here, but you will never win. Taking me out of the picture will not dampen the efforts of the resistance. You. Will. Never. Win," she spits, hoping he doesn't hear the tremble in her voice.
His wand slashes through the air as if signing her death note. He doesn't even speak the curse, and Amelia doesn't have time to react. With a flash of green light, life leaves her eyes. Her body hits the floor with a loud thunk, and she lays still.
⁂
When Aurors find her body the following morning, there are no markings to indicate what befell Amelia Bones, aside from the Dark Mark lingering over her house. The cottage door remains locked, even as the building around her starts to crumble from the remnant power of the Avada Kedavra—the decay of dark magic already creeping in.
The Muggle papers will report her death a mystery, but those in the Magical communities know better. It will send a shudder through their bodies as they read the news the next day. If Amelia Bones couldn't survive against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, what hope do they have?