━ bones, amelia.

On the outside, Minister Bagnold can’t look too bothered with the recent allegations that came out against her. She’s not the first Minister to receive slander during her term and she wouldn’t be the last. To be thought of as a veela isn’t one of the worst things in the world, she even joked once.

But behind closed doors… Boy, was it one gigantic clusterfuck. Did that mean they couldn’t return to business as usual? No, of course not. In fact, there’ll be a fire under their asses if Bagnold catches them doing anything other than their job. 

Barty had just picked up the second batch of documents that he was supposed to send out when the Head of the DMLE stopped him in his tracks. She was someone whom Barty definitely had to stop for, but that didn’t stop him from reacting as he did. “Would you prefer to leave it with me? I’m afraid that Minister Bagnold’s currently preoccupied.”

A part of Amelia wondered just what had the Minister preoccupied. Members of the Wizengamot? Reporters? An existential crisis? Merlin, she couldn’t imagine. Amelia was rather certain Head of the DMLE was as far as she wanted to climb up the hierarchy. Not that anyone could accuse her of being a Veela; even falsely, it just didn’t stand up to scrutiny. But even a workaholic such as herself had a threshold on stress.

It was hard to believe the two Bones were raised in the same family. They were different in almost every possible way. It didn’t help that Edgar was his best friend while Amelia was practically his boss. It pushed them even further apart in Moody’s mind. “Alright, no need to yell,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “I’d offer you a seat, but since you’re here to stretch your legs…” He trailed off, not feeling the need to finish that statement. “I think I’m doing just fine without an evaluation. Especially if you’re coming to me to see if I have anything useful. Though, I’m going to need you to be a little more specific. I found a charm that makes my shoes more comfortable and I find that very useful. Might be good with all the time you’re spending on your feet.”

“no,” rabastan was careful to respond, purposefully holding his tongue in order to avoid an additional comment regarding amelia’s bias. you could say a lot of things about rabastan lestrange- but at least he knew when to keep his mouth shut, his father had been successful in that. he felt that it went without saying that such a statement could be easily verified, therefore making it a pretty poor lie. amelia was smart, she knew as much. though it pained him to admit it.

and there it was. the bigger question. the point. whatever you wanted to call it, amelia had revealed her true intentions in stopping him. he nearly sighed, but he managed to keep his mouth shut, instead allowing his eyes to narrow slightly. he was well aware of what was going on in the news, and he did not appreciate the accusation. but he was determined to not let that show. “diagon alley apothecary,” he responded, “you might as well go ahead and add that to your file. would you like a copy of my schedule while you’re at it?”

She eyed him for a moment before giving a slight nod. She’d believe him, at least about that. It was a ridiculous thing to lie about; if she cared that much, she could trail him there. Fortunately for him, she didn’t care enough to stalk him. She had plenty of other things on her plate. She had a war to fight. And even if she thought he might be on the other side of it, he was a miniscule threat. His brother? His sister-in-law? His other connections? Those would’ve been bigger concerns.

At this point he hoped Amelia was used to his bluntness. He didn’t see the point in behaving otherwise. He had much more important things to focus on than other people’s feelings.

“Unfortunately I’m in a similar way,” he said gesturing to his desk. “Don’t feel like I’m making much progress no matter what I do.” He looked at her with narrowed eyes. He wasn’t really sure what she was after. “Here to evaluate me?”

Moody had know Amelia long enough to know he didn’t have to hold back around her. It was getting harder to do that around anyone lately. It took too much energy to be polite - energy that could be spent elsewhere, doing much more important things. “I’ll probably just dump it out after you leave. The greenhorns don’t need the extra energy.”

“If I didn’t know better, you’d sound like you were accusing me,” he said as he leaned over the desk. He didn’t want to completely get up, but he felt that leaning forward gave more of his message. “Have you? What are you here about? Isn’t your time precious?”

Her lips twitched with a repressed laugh, half-hidden behind the rim of her mug. “I heard nothing if someone complains,” she said, taking a sip of her bitter drink. Which would be silly, right? For someone to complain? And yet, tensions in the office were always simmering. Someone might complain about wasted coffee, just to be petty. Wouldn’t be the first complaint of that magnitude. Those people needed to focus on their work, but she knew why they weren’t. They weren’t getting anywhere.

It wasn’t a shock or a kick to the stomach to see Amelia. It couldn’t be, at this point, because not once since their divorce had they stopped working in the same building as each other day in, day out. Not until now, that was. He was stubborn by nature and that was perhaps the part of the break-up that had been most difficult because it went against his entire being to just give up on them but it didn’t matter how happy they had been. Things had changed and their lives had moved on and the next step they were to take apart from each other. Sometimes, that was just how things were.

Still, it did make some things more difficult. There was a line to toe when your ex-wife was also your boss. A history that demanded not to be ignored completely battling with the need for professionalism and a lack of bias in either direction. Even here, in a supermarket, Pim wanted to ask if she was offering help as the Head of the DMLE, or as his friend, or as someone he had once called family. It made a difference, not necessarily to how he felt about her offering but to the sort of help he might ask for. He let himself flop back down to his chair, holding the box of cereal against his chest. “I’ll never get my strength back if people keep insisting on doing things for me.” And if anyone understood his need to be independent, it was Amelia. “You know what would help with that? Coming back to work.”

She nodded. Things had changed; her feelings weren’t what they once were, there relationship wasn’t what it once was, but she still cared. She still hurt seeing him hurt. She worried about him. She wanted to see him back in the office, even if it meant the occasional pang in her chest. She respected his explanation, though she wanted to warn him not to push himself him past his limits. He didn’t need a lecture from her. It was his body anyways – she couldn’t lecture him about it.

where: Ministry of Magic who: Barty Crouch Jr. and anyone

The minister was absolutely unforgiving once Barty returned to work. He only missed a few days after taking a leave of absence, but the other junior assistants did not pick up the tasks he left behind. The tasks were all waiting for him once he got back. 

With an intimidating to-do list pile neatly stacked on his table, Barty couldn’t afford to be distracted. His day at the office has barely started but he was already up and about doing the various tasks at hand. With a couple dozen of  folders tucked in his arm, Barty dropped by documents going from office to office.

Barty kept his pace fast and his face stern. Hopefully, it was enough to deter anyone who might try to keep him from doing his work. Unfortunately, some people just couldn’t take the hint. “Yes, can I help you?”

Amelia’s relationship with Minister Bagnold had been non-existent before taking the promotion. Since then, it could only be described as complicated. But that was a given, wasn’t it? Millicent was the queen and she was the general in a civil war they weren’t winning. Not losing, not yet, but not winning. The veela reveal hadn’t mucked it up any more than that.

Frankly, Amelia considered it none of her business, and she was acting like it. The report in her hand was the same she delivered every month. Same day, same time, the same rehearsed lines on the tip of her tongue. Yet, upon arriving at the Minister’s office, Bagnold wasn’t in.

“I thought it would have died down by now, but I have a pile of letters in my office that I’ve categorised as ‘not sports related’ even if they kind of are. It feels out of my depth really.” He wasn’t all bothered about it though. The war brought an energy that was palpable. He could feel how it energized some of his closest friends, even if for a lot of people they were motivated by fear only. It wasn’t like that for everyone.

Percy smirked. “Amelia, do I really look like I know how to knit a sweater?” He tried to think back to his childhood, about whether he remembered his mum or any of the women he stayed with knitting. He couldn’t recall. Maybe Persephone learned from their mum. He wondered if Pandora had been taught as well. Maybe it was something he missed out on. Whether it was because of gender or his absence was unclear to him. “That’s good to hear,” he said. Amelia seemed to be one of those people who was always working. “I’m sure there are folks at The Prophet who worked their way through, but it’s easier to do that I think. As you can see, I rarely work in my own office. Too stuffy.”

She nodded just as she brought her cup up for another sip. It was warm and rich and hit the spot. Admittedly, when it came to coffee she was no snob, but she’d drunk enough to discern generally good from generally bad. “I don’t blame you. It’s not… Most people aren’t prepared to discuss it. You should hear some questions I get during press conferences. The stupidity.” Amelia sighed, shaking her head.

A gasp escaped him at the thought of ever losing out on Amelia’s food. It was the taste of home; the taste of their childhood. He knew she didn’t mean it, but he couldn’t help but be dramatic about it. At least, just a little. “How dare you ever threaten me with losing your cooking,” he said, shaking his head. “That hits deep, dearest. Actually, it makes me hungry. Do you think they have tostones around here?” It was a silly thought, one that he knew would not come true. If he missed anything from his childhood, it was good Cuban food. At least Amelia could make it for them. 

He’d always been helpless in a kitchen. Alvaro was the cook in their household; the one who made sure Edgar had a nice meal on his plate when he came home. Somehow, he’d never realized that until Alvaro was gone. He was shaken from his thoughts at Amelia’s question, and he shook his head. “No bloody clue,” he said. “Some bastard, I’m sure. Or someone pulling a joke. I was almost hoping it was you, so I wouldn’t have to wonder who for the rest of the night.”

The corner of Amelia’s lip twitched, amusement twinkling in her eyes. “Then think before you speak next time,” she said, her voice implying see who has the power. But it was light-hearted ribbing between siblings. She’d never stop feeding him because she loved him and also what the hell was she supposed to do with her leftovers. Mother’s recipes were fit for eight at least; even halving them was a lot for one, single woman.

“That’s an unfortunately common experience for me. One could call it a part of the jobs I’ve had. As an auror, it was the usual suspects ‒ ruffians and ne’er-do-wells. The worst of them got sent to Azkaban. Not much to worry about. The frequent fliers weren’t really enemies. The ones I had suspicions about, and who knew about my suspicions, were smart enough not to try anything. Now, as Head of the DMLE, I’ve got a whole new category of enemies: political rivals. Which is bullshit, frankly, but so are the memos and meeting requests coming out of Magical Transportation. Merlin only knows what I did to get on their shitlist but I did somehow.”

Moody knew things in the Ministry of Magic took a long time, but it was one thing when it was about some regulation on wands or a magical beast registry. It was another thing entirely when the things that were taking so long or rather, yielding so little progress, were the things that seemed to keep causing chaos. Moody knew that not finding the real perpetrator from the cup wasn’t directly related to any other deaths or attacks, but the lack of progress was still frustrating when placed in that light.

“Save it for yourself,” he said as moved some papers from his desk to the pile in the corner with his wand. He barely met her eyes. He didn’t dislike Amelia Bones, but he didn’t exactly like her either. He thought maybe they were too similar. “You look like you need it.” He paused. Too harsh maybe. “And I don’t drink that crap.” He looked up. “Sorry the place is a mess. If I had known you’d be dropping in, I’d have tidied up.”

Amelia snorted. You look like you need it was a rather harsh greeting, but she knew better than to expect sunshine and daisies out of Moody’s mouth. He wasn’t as respected as he was for his charisma. His was a good aim, a sharp-if-paranoid mind, and reliable. Despite his protests though, she set the cup of the desk. “Give it to one of the greenhorns then. I’ll probably have another cup later, but I’ll get it fresh.”

The hospital had promised it was only a temporary measure but that didn’t mean Epimetheus wasn’t very frustrated by the need to be in a wheelchair to do something as mundane as his weekly groceries. Or anything, really. The damn chair was part of the Ministry’s reasoning in not letting him go back to work, as well, even though he didn’t see why he couldn’t at least sit in the office and review case files. He had chosen the Hit Office almost exclusively because there was less of that type of work than in the Auror Office (and he wasn’t required to have a NEWT in Potions) but anything would be better than laying around at home with nothing to do. His Healer was adamant, however, that he was not to go back to work in any capacity until their say-so.

His magic was the other part of their reasoning. It had always been a temperamental thing, thanks to a rocky childhood, but the curse that had been coursing through his body ever since the raid that had hospitalised him for all of Christmas and January had exasperated issues he hadn’t struggled with since he was eleven. Epimetheus still feared the spiral from control that he had once learned to expect from his magic so when a summoning charm didn’t work on the box of cereal on the top shelf, he knew better than to try and force his magic to work the way he wanted it to. Instead, he braced himself on the arms of his chair and pushed himself to standing. “I’m fine,” he insisted to someone who had moved closer, presumably to help, and he grabbed the box of cereal, ignoring shooting pains down his spine.

Shock didn’t stop Amelia in her tracks like it might some when they see their ex-husband. But unlike the dissolution of many marriages, theirs had been mutual, based on a fading of love rather than a souring of it. And it had hurt, as all break-ups do, but time was a balm for all aches. Besides, how would she be able to work if seeing him paralyzed her? She was his boss. Up until quite recently, they worked on the same floor. 

“Trying to,” he said honestly. “I feel like I’ve been writing the same thing over and over.” He shrugged. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Just a write up of one of last week’s games.” He looked down at his papers. That’s what it was supposed to be, but it kept turning into anything but. “It seems that these days even sports start to be connected to something larger.” He was sure Amelia knew that well.

“They’re good,” he said. “Pandora and I spent the holidays together. And I saw Persephone recently… made me a sweater. Still not quite sure how. Kind of think it might fall apart the moment I try to put it on.” He paused. It wasn’t easy to talk about Persephone, even in a light-hearted way. “How about you? I hope you got some sort of break for yourself and didn’t spend the entirety of the holidays working.”

Her expression said it all as she rose her cup for a sip. “After what happened at last year’s nationals, I’d be surprised if they weren’t,” she said. How many people still had nightmares about that? About the green light and then the body falling, plummeting, crashing. She could picture it vividly even now.

rabastan lestrange was known for many things- his patience was not one of them. in fact, his patience grew thinner with each passing second. a fatal combination of the weather and unwanted company, his anger seemed almost inevitable. but he did his best to hold his tongue, not wanting to cause any unnecessary trouble for himself. after all, he was no fool. and he’d run into amelia bones enough times to know he’d best be careful. 

rather than debate the use of drying charms, he chose to ignore her response. he was simply too proud to reveal he’d forgotten the charm. and then came the question, he was surprised it took her so long to get the point. so much so, in fact, that he couldn’t resist a laugh. “would you believe me if i said i was on the way to work?” he responded, an eyebrow arched, as he waited for her response. he had long ago realized honesty was the best policy with her, but he had a feeling she wouldn’t believe him. after all- a lestrange at work?

Amelia rose a brow at him. “Is there a reason I shouldn’t believe you?” Not that he really needed to answer. Why would she trust a Lestrange? They were a dark bunch. Their desire to remain ‘pureblooded’ was no secret. And these days, those were the sorts you didn’t trust. That was without acknowledging what a sorry drunk Rabastan was, which she considered a reflection of his sober self. Alcohol didn’t change a person, only revealed.

Of course, he wasn’t going to say no when she offered to try. Taking the dart in his hand, though, he could tell why Moody had been yelling earlier about the games being rigged. This one felt particularly off, and he quickly passed it back and forth between his hands, trying hard to figure out just where the weight was off. “Damn,” he muttered, looking at his sister. “Alright, maybe it wasn’t your aim.” And with that, he closed one eye, and tried his best.

The dart managed to hit, and Edgar cheered, grinning over at his sister. “Look at that!” he exclaimed. “Still got it, it seems. Although, I don’t blame you on this one. I retract my statement. We can still be related.” He winked, although quickly he leaned next to her on the booth as they waited for the employee to grab him his hippogriff plushie. “You’re also related, then, to a man who got nominated for the auction. Anonymously.” He raised a brow, hoping she’d come clean if she’d done something, although he truly doubted it was her. Out of everyone, Amelia knew what he was going through. She wouldn’t do that to him before he was ready.

Amelia crossed her arms over her chest, cocking a brow at him as he weighed the dart in his hand before looking at her. Her expression said it all: I told you so. That expression didn’t change even as he pulled back his arm, aimed, and threw. Even when the dart managed to hit. She just rolled her eyes. “You’d lose out on my cooking if we weren’t related and you know mama wouldn’t feed you as much as I do. Think on that.” Though wry, her words didn’t come across as offended.

who: @amliabones​ where: carnival games. when: february 14th, 1983.

If anyone had entered him into the auction, it wouldn’t have been Amelia. Or, maybe it would’ve, but Edgar would like to think his sister knew that he wasn’t ready. Well, maybe he wasn’t. Truthfully, Edgar didn’t know; he was holding on to a memory, at this point, and it felt like moving on meant destroying it; crushing it in his fist and leaving Alvaro behind.

He wasn’t ready.

Still, he pushed through the crowd when he spotted his sister and sidled up next to her at the game she was having a go at. “Ooooh, terrible shot,” he shook his head. “I can’t believe you and I are related with that sort of aim.”

...

Amelia wasn’t the celebratory sort. Carnival games and rides and bachelor auctions weren’t on the list of things she wanted to do on a day off. Yet, here she was. Not that she really considered it a day off; not when her eyes double-checked every shadow and she wandered the park like a dog patrolling its territory. She couldn’t shake the unease that something would go wrong even though she hoped she was wrong.

Alice adored her superiors. She knew she was good auror. Alice was good at her job. And she was dedicated. Falling pregnant hadn’t been her best decision, but even then she’d been dedicated. She could have easily just stayed at home with Neville. But she adored her job. She loved being an auror, and she loved doing her job. It made it easier to be dedicated, because she knew she was making a good difference in this world. They had to win the war, and she was determined to help.

“We will always appreciate home made food” She murmured with a smile. Alice was good at baking, but not so much at actual cooking. Luckily Frank was, but she knew that he too would appreciate food cooked by someone else. “So feel free to keep bringing us food” She teased with a little smile. She really wouldn’t mind it at all.

“We’re good….” Over worked, and tired, but good. “He is. He’ll be three in six months.” And she really couldn’t believe that he was going getting that old. He was growing too fsat, and she really did not like it

...

“Who doesn’t?” So far in Amelia’s life, she hadn’t found anyone who disliked a homecooked meal. Maybe someone who was wary, expecting the Tupperware to come with strings attached, but it wasn’t like that. She lived alone. She had no children. Perpetually single was her default state. And she loved cooking. Since cooking for one was a nearly impossible feat, the extra portions had to go somewhere that wasn’t her fridge. There were only so many leftovers a person could tolerate. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she added with a breathy laugh.