#justicebones

Location: Wizarding London Time: Evening, 2nd of March Status: Closed, for @justicebones

The conversation with Dedalus Diggle had positively frustrated Edgar, and he knew there wasn’t much to do about it other than going to Amelia and hope she could soothe the irritation into still waters again.

He waited for her by her office, outside the exit he knew she usually took, feet tapping, fingers poking holes into the insides of his coat pockets, lungs getting blacker with every new cigarette he lit, and then she showed up. In motions untypically fast, he caught her by the wrist and pulled her behind a pillar, tucked her to it and looked down at her. Giving her just enough time to recognise him and not file this as a dangerous situation, he procured two plastic, children’s costume masks, one with the face of a cat, one with the face of a dog.

LOCATION: Ministry of Magic, Department of Magical Law DATE: January 6th, 1982 STATUS: closed | @justicebones

Over one month, that’s how long it had taken Caradoc to finish the first book that Amelia had recommended him. It hadn’t been easy for him to find the time to read, but he had made a promise to his friend and had wanted to keep his word. So, while slowly, the book had been read. At first he wasn’t sure if he should go to her right away⁠—since he had yet to solve whatever was going on between him and Edgar⁠—but then he had realised that he couldn’t let that keep him from talking to Amelia, not when he had taken this long to be able to keep his end of their deal.

So, at the start of lunch break, he had left Barnacle, his work partner, to his smelly lunch and inappropriate jokes, while he made his way to the Department of Magical Law, book firmly kept under his arm. He rarely made the trip any other day, only when called to testify in a case, but he still knew the way to Amelia’s office.

He knocked on the door. “Amelia?” he called, “it’s Caradoc. I’m here to take you out to lunch.”

LOCATION: Rosier Family Estate DATE: February 14, 1982 @justicebones​

Ainsley could barely force herself to focus; her head was spinning, her stomach coiled into icy knots, her hands shaking -- but much as she wanted to just run out into the garden and scream, she couldn’t. The presence of the other guests (guests! ha!) wouldn’t have stopped her, but the sight of her little sister’s beaming smile held her in place as solidly as an Impediment Jinx. For Nessie’s sake, Ainsley had to swallow her rising gorge and force a smile onto her face and pretend that everything was okay...

Even though nothing would be okay ever, ever again.

Warm brown eyes caught hers from above a warmer smile, and Ainsley’s heart -- which she had thought could sink no lower -- plummeted. Why had she invited Amelia to this? Why had she thought that it would ever be a good idea to bring someone she cared about into this house? Into this...this inescapable disaster?

But just as with the rest of it, there was no way out; Ainsley could practically feel eyes on her as she walked forward to meet Amelia’s greeting. She was a vision in yellow, fine beading and a gauzy cape -- a perfect fit to the fine room. Nothing Ainsley could have said to convince her to leave was something that was safe to say. Ainsley was committed -- to all of it. She could only hope that no one was going to get hurt because of her...even as she knew, knew past any doubts or hopes, that that was inevitable. Please not Amelia, though, she thought desperately, as though fate or Death Eaters alike ever cared what someone wished.

“I...hello,” she said. She had to say something. “I’m glad you came,” she said, although she wasn’t, not anymore. “You look lovely,” she said and that, at least, was true -- maybe the last true thing she would be able to say tonight...or ever. Ainsley smiled for Amelia, and wondered fleetingly what would happen if she grabbed the other witch’s hand and just ran -- the two of them, away from all of this, away from the war, from the Rosiers, from everything, just run away together before it was too late...

Artem let out a guttural yell as their back hit the mat, but they rolled and were back up in an instant. Teeth flashed, as much as smile as a war face. “That was a good hit,” they said, already shifting and bobbing to avoid Amelia being able to sweep their feet again. MMA was proving to be a fun time.

Amelia chuckled, “I know,” and made a couple rapid jabs. 

Artem blocked them and managed to get in a couple good hits of their own.

The bell sounded, and both dropped their hands. Artem immediately pulled a glove off to be able to clunkily pick up their water bottle, splashing their face more than getting it in their mouth.

“We should do this again,” Amelia said, out of breath but still smiling.

Location: House of Bones Time: Early Evening, 9th of March Status: Closed, for @a-glasshalfempty, @justicebones

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” he asked, arms slung tight around her, looking around. “To be back?” 

Nothing had sorted itself out between Edgar, Rigby and the big heritage question. Both were still refusing to sign the book in the Chapel, both were still rejecting the ring, both were still not talking to each other. However, what had sorted itself out -- in an almost ridiculously easy way -- was the House of Bones question.

Edgar had hesitated to bring the Order into the House of Bones for two main reasons. One, he knew the house wasn’t fully his to use until he was the heir, and two, he couldn’t have his family run into the Order all the time. Luckily for him though, most of his family was currently scattered all across the globe, with his parents back in Mexico, Colter in Russia and Dell in, well, somewhere between Tokyo and Paris. Left was only Rigby, and as Amelia and Edgar had carefully approached him, asking him if he could please no longer come back to the House of Bones for the time being, he … nodded. Grabbed his coat and left, forgetting his glasses as well as his shoes. Just left. Accepted his fate without questioning it, and -- judging by the size and darkness of his under-eye bags -- possibly assuming that this was just yet another thing one had to sacrifice for fatherhood. 

The next day, the packing at the Potter Estate had begun. Amelia being introduced to everything only so she could help find ways to set it up in the House of Bones in the afternoon. There was no rush to get everything over in one day, but Edgar and Caradoc found that at least all the valuable things should be brought over as soon as possible, seeing how the Potter Estate was no longer well-warded. Boxes were carried manually, drawers were emptied and refilled, chimney places were lit for the first time in at least ten years, rooms were explained and designated for certain meetings and secrets, and by the time night fell, everything was more or less settled, and the House of Bones fell silent once more.

Well, mostly silent. Upon finding Amelia on the couch in their old living-room -- well, probably their new living-room again now, huh? -- Edgar let himself fall over the backrest onto her, causing her to let out a cat-like yelp in response. After some yelling and trying to push him off her, the tune changed into laughter, though, and eventually she gave up, Edgar quite happily crushing her to death with his weight.

Weird indeed. The House of Bones, inhabited again. His head on Amelia’s chest he was contemplating this, when footsteps announced another person. And not just anyone either: Fabian Prewett, the Scottish cold still on his shoulders. Edgar’s lips curved into a smile. Fabian had been here before, Edgar himself had shown him around. But that was long before the Order had been part of their life, long before this house was part of Fabian’s life, and it felt … weird. 

And weirder it was when Edgar realised that the person he so gladly smiled at, and the person he was currently lying on, were in disagreement for almost three months now. Realised? Well, no. Remembered. After all, that was why Edgar had called Fabian here, on a school night. “I’m glad you could make it,” he therefore said, quickly, before Amelia could say something as well as trying not to hide from her the fact that he had invited Fabian. “Come sit.” He himself, too, detangled himself from his sister and sat up. “We just made hot chocolate.” The pot on the coffee table bubbled happily.

Location: Ministry of Magic Time: Evening, 14th of December Status: Closed, for @justicebones

Every rule and every law drew a line between what was acceptable to do and what wasn’t. This was how the world functioned and the reason why Edgar had and would always spend many nights reading every rule and law known to man, simply to never overstep into inacceptable territory by accident. This being said, many of those lines weren’t fine. They weren’t the kind of sidewalk-edge children try to balance on. For people who knew how to tread carefully, they were rather solid ground, those lines, and easy to maneuver on -- instead of maneuvering around.

Breaking into the very centers of the Ministry? Inacceptable. Being there if invited? Acceptable. Meaning to do something bad there? Inacceptable. Meaning to do make someone happy? Acceptable. A line to tread carefully indeed, and Edgar was wearing his favourite pair of shoes.

With quick but astonishingly poised steps, he made it from the floo powder entrances past a multitude of attentive looking people to the elevators, and not long after he was on Amelia’s floor. He could feel her presence. The Ministry had turned into a dark place in recent years, but he could sense her colours, her warmth, knew that she wasn’t in her office when he passed the door. But she was still here, in this building on this floor, probably working extra hours, and that was just what he had hoped for.

He was tired. Exhausted. Weary. All of these words coming with yet another connotation that fit Edgar unfortunately all too well. And yet, or perhaps because of that, he knew that he needed light a fuse of foolishness with his twin tonight. Slipping into the office and past the protection charms, careful not to trigger the ones Amelia hadn’t lifted off of him a while ago, he searched for a place to hide. Some place obvious that would only surprise her, not give her a deadly fright.

i’m still upset that the drabble mistyped quiet

tw: death  lol listen, blame ashley!

pt2 [pt 1]

Amelia was howling.

She’d always had the feistiness of six angry lionesses, scaring even the bravest Wizards into piles of pudding on the ground, but her anger as she filled the room almost entirely in her ghostly form had even Dumbledore take a step back, fall silent with wariness.

“We can’t.”

Ghosts can’t touch anything, they say. But the office was shaking, books falling out of their shelves, instruments crashing to the ground, tables trembling. “Save him!”

“It’s too late. There’s nothing we can do.”

Amelia grew and grew as she looked from the people she had trusted to protect him -- until suddenly she was her own size again. Small and delicate, looking almost lost and fragile.  “Why are you crying?” she asked.

It was directed at Caradoc, who was crouched by Edgar’s side, his fist on his chest, feeling his heartbeats slow down with every breath the body still tried to take. “I could save some of his memories,” he said through clenched teeth. “You could go live with those, Amelia. I could-, I could make him live a little longer for you.”

“Why are you crying?” she repeated. She could no longer understood the complex threads and knots of human emotions. She’d come back to keep her brother alive, promising him to never leave his side but to protect him forever, and that was all her shell could still feel and think.

Caradoc stared at her, sorrowful and apologetic, then stared at his hand. He knew before anyone else. Turned away and got up, left the room.

LOCATION: The Ministry of Magic, Department of Magical Law Enforcement DATE: January 25, 1982 @justicebones

It wasn’t until her third reprise of the same eight square feet of marble tile that Ainsley realized she was pacing -- dithering. Disgusted with herself, she grabbed her (illogical, inexplicable, and quite pointless) nerves in a hard grip of cold mental iron and marched up to the door to Amelia Bones’s office. She rapped three times and entered, hardly able to hear the voice beckoning her to do so over the roaring of her own blood in her ears.

(Why was she so nervous? True, she hadn’t spoken to Amelia in more than passing since the holiday party where they’d ended up together under of probably-Potter’s mistletoe, but so what? It was just a silly Charm-inspired kiss. It didn’t mean anything -- of course not! What could it have meant? Amelia wasn’t the sort to hold a grudge over a harmless prank, and even if she were that grudge wouldn’t have been held against Ainsley so it was fine, everything was fine and she was just being silly and it was probably all spill-over nerves from Nessie with maybe a side of “worried the Rosiers might murder us both” for extra flavor. It was fine.)

So fine, in fact, that the first words out of Ainsley’s mouth were not the polite “good afternoon,” or “how’s work, then?” with which she’d meant to start the conversation. Instead, she blurted-out, “Nessie’s engaged. There’ll be a party. Go with me? As friends, I mean -- of course as friends, because we are friends, hahaha,” she laughed inanely. “But I mean, go with me as my date, because I need a date, and we’re friends, so you can be my date, if you want to. Although I won’t blame you if you don’t, because who would want to go to a party with the Rosiers? Nessie’s mental. I’m sorry, how are you?”