A M E L I A

Amelia Bones. 31. Assistant Head Barrister - Vice

[habeas-bones]

Off the cuff || Amelia & Open

The tag scratched at the back of Amelia’s neck and she wondered for the umpteenth time if the creater of business dress robes ever realized what a nuisance they had made for the rest of the world. She avoided Madam Malkins if there was anything she could do about it, but one could only have so many pairs of ripped and faded dress robes befoer they had to acknowledge that for the sake of their reputation they needed a wardrobe refresher. 

And so here she stood, in the middle of the shop as a tailoring witch clucked and hummed around her, poking her with her new measurements, because of course the ones they had on fie were from right after she left the auror program, and she’d seen the good side of a fiar number of pastries since then. 

Currently, she had a set of deep violet robes on, the sweeping neckline and dramatic sleeves actually providing something more forbidding than the usual nonchalance to which she took her noraml dressing.... she hated to admit it but she thought it rather suited her. 

“Not too shabby, I think.”

[moonwane-wolfsbane]

God/Goddess Asks!

[theqveenofthornsarchive]

Anubis: How do you feel about death?

Atum: What are your greatest imperfections?

Bastet: Do you have any cats?

Hathor: What brings you joy?

Horus: What is one thing you’ve had to fight for in your life?

Osiris: Do you believe in the underworld?

Ra: Do you have any major responsibilities or importance?

Thoth: Do you like to read/write?

Arawn: What is the most terrifying thing you’ve ever done?

Bran: How is your health?

Brighid: Tell us about your relationship with your father.

Cernunnos: What is your favorite animal?

Danu: What is your relationship with your mother?

Morrigan: What do you think happens when we die?

Olwen: What is your favorite flower?

Rhiannon: Have you ever been betrayed?

Bragi: What kind of music do you listen to?

Freya: Have you ever been in love?

Freyr: Do you have any children?

Hœnir: Are you a silent or talkative person?

Iounn: How old are you?

Loki: What is the best trick you’ve ever pulled on someone?

Odin: What is your family like?

Thor: Would you consider yourself pretty powerful?

Tree: What have you done with your life? What are you going to do with it?

Aphrodite: What do you think of yourself?

Ares: Are you an easy person to anger?

Athena: Would you consider yourself an artist?

Apollo: Do you play any instruments?

Dionysus: Do you drink?

Hades: Do you have a bad reputation?

Hekate: Have you ever tried to communicate with the dead?

Hermes: Have you ever stolen anything?

Poseidon: Are you a moody person?

Zeus: Are you a confident person?

Jupiter: Would people say that you are intimidating or fairly approachable?

Pluto: Where do you think we go when we die?

Apollo & Dianna: Do you prefer to be up during the day or at night?

Mars: Have you ever gotten into a fight?

Minerva: Do you generally give good advice?

Proserpine: Have you ever felt trapped?

Plutus: Do you have a job?

Venus: Have you ever had your heart broken?

Vesta: Do you like being home or do you try to get out whenever you can?

Morpheus: Do you daydream often? Of what?

[bonepriestess]

Pleaaaaase 🖤

[ask-meme]

tarot card asks

[goodbyedearfriends-deactivated2]

fool: what’s the biggest risk you’ve ever taken?

magician: list 3 of your talents

high priestess: do you pay more attention to your heart or your mind?

empress: how dependent are you on others?

emperor: describe your relationship with your father

hierophant: do you value tradition?

lovers: does someone need to share your values for you to pursue a relationship?

chariot: in what situations are you most assertive?

strength: how impulsive are you?

hermit: what are you like when you’re alone?

wheel of fortune: how’s your luck?

justice: do you value fairness over mercy?

hanged man: how do you feel about martyrs?

death: do you like change?

temperance: do you tend to focus on the past, present, or future?

devil: is there anything you’re addicted to?

tower: what do you most want to change about yourself?

star: what religious beliefs do you have?

moon: do you have any recurrent dreams?

sun: do you believe optimism is always good?

judgement: how confident are you in yourself?

world: what do you hope to accomplish before you die?

[habeas-bones]

He grins.

“Steak dinner, merlots, I’ll treat it right, plus I’ve got very soft hands.”

Arthur hears it as he’s said it, but he’s able to keep a hold of his face for a second longer. “Erm, be right back.” Arthur turns and immdiately wants to set himself on fire.

Soft hands, you absolute wank? That’s how we flirt these days?

Resisting the urge to pour all the boiling tea kettle water down his throat and drown in the break room, Arthur instead summons the pink mug and another from his own desk. He fixes tea to her liking and leaves his black. He returns, brandishing her pink mug in his left and his “Paul’s not dead” in his right. He places the later on Amelia’s desk and grins. 

“Fair trade and all that-plus now we can use them as negotatian pieces like spies in American movies.”

His smile grows when she laughs and he pulls a chair over to sit across from her at her desk. 

“So, you out rank me and out brain me, I reckon you’re in charge. But er, if you’d like, we could go look at the misuse archives-takes a bit of practice to get the kinds of charms on something that small, they might have older pieces that are just collecting dust. If that’d help.” Arthur adds. “Truth be told this is a bit out of my realm, I typically work on cases with transport-cars, bikes, brooms, the lot, but they tossed me on this one because apparently I’m “best at inter department communication” whatever that croc of shit means. I’m trying to say completely at your service, Miss Bones, just point me in the right direction.”

Arthur Weasley and his soft hands walk away and she’s almost left with a breathlessness that is tinged with giddy. He’s fun. It’s something that she’s missed in between the reports and the endless piles of obliviate approvals. So when he returns and hands her his own mug it’s all she can do to supress a grin. 

“We should probably have a signal then-- going back to you talking too much, maybe it’s something like” she pauses, then taps her chin three times. “A way to alert each other without tipping off the enemy, you know.” She gestures broadly to the rest of the office, oblivious to the fun happening in her cubicle. 

She wants to shush him as he compliments her, but it strikes her that perhaps this is the first man to tell her that to her face that isn’t directly related, so she revels in it. “That’s not a bad idea, these cases hardly ever seem to be standalone in nature.” Amelia takes a sip of her tea, surprisingly, it’s perfect. “I believe it wholeheartedly. Seems like you’re wasted working with things that can’t talk back. And please--- Call me Amelia.” 

[habeas-bones]

“Aye. Are you?” His voice catches in a way he ignores, softer than he’d like, but that’s always going to be the case when it comes to Amelia. He clears his throat. 

“I can uh, “ He frowns as he scratches at the back of his head. He can’t quite remember the last time he took a shower. He watches her watch him with mild disgust and decides he’s going to have to literally clean up his act if she’s around. Wait, what does that matter? Why does she care if she’s disgusted by him?

Sex his brain helpfully thinks when he watches her purse her lips. Alastor sighs and shakes the thought away from his brain, knowing its something much more than that, it always has been with her, and not wanting to explore that any further, he picks up the photo she flipped over and stares at it. 

“Look, we both know how capable you are, eh?” He says, glancing over the top of the photo at her. “But-” He cracks his knuckles. “There might be ways of dealing with this that go against that bloody oath we both know you’re bound to.”

“I could just take care of it, ‘Melia. Merlin owes I know you.” He can’t look at her again so he stares blankly at the photo. “This kind of shit…” he doesn’t finish his thought, knowing she won’t hear it but hating that she’s subjected to these horrible things. Cases like this should be reserved for lost causes just like himself.

“It wouldn’t take me much, and without regulations….you could make plans this weekend.”

If he was smoother, cleaner and sober, that would be when he’d add “with me.” Instead, he picks up the next photo in the pile and frowns at the ligature marks.

Somewhere, deep down in the mess that is sitting before her, is a man that she knew. There are glimmers of him if she looks just right, which is hard to do. He is just so aggravating-- the kind of aggravating that makes her twist in her sheets when she’s laying in bed bitter and alone. But she needs him, and he needs to know that she needs him. Beneath the layers of grim the ephemeral quality he has, that he’s always had, is still pulsating, drawing her in even though history has repeated told her that he will be nothing but trouble for her. 

“That’s why I came here. Maybe trying to find a loophole makes me a bad auror, or at least a hypocrite. But no one is listening and I’m tired of waiting.” It took everything in her not to be fatigued by the moving parts of her life that all seemed to be forever paused. 

She shrugged-- one minute he could see through her, the next his sight was gone. “I’m fairly certain the movie and takeaway I had planned in my flat have flexible schedules, Al.” She peers around him at the picture he’s holding, her mind flipping back into auror mode. “What’s got you frowning like that?”

[habeas-bones]

“Flagrent feats are the worst kind.”

“You been to Muggle sports much? They’re quite interesting-a lot of professional qudditch players wouldn’t be able to perfom in most of the games, because you need a completely seperate kind of physique to be good on a broom-basically the opposite of me, fell off every bloody twig I’ve been on. There’s one thats popular in America called Basketball that being tall is good for, but I played it against my sister’s husband last Christmas and I’m shit at that too. I-”

Arthur clears his throat. “I am rambling, sorry. They uh-want me to partner with you. I’m sure the call will come from upstairs tomorrow or something, but just giving you a heads up.”

Arthur gives her an apologetic smile. 

“Since you’re going to be stuck with me, please er, stop me when I get like that. Perkins is used to it, bless him, and I think partially deaf-or he’s very adept at ignoring me, regardless-do you know who might be making them? I’m very good with paper trails-one of my many skills along with not knowing how to shut up.”

Around pretty women. He adds silently, cursing himself for his inability to not overstay his welcome or drone on about something no one else particularly cares about. Yves would always get after him whenever he did that when they’d be out at the shops or a restaraunt-said it seemed like he was trying to show off. That’s far from the reason-Arthur just gets so nervous that he scrambles to gain control over the situation, and usually talking first or talking more or sharing a fact was a good way to ensure that the impression he left was at least closer to what he wanted it to be. And he’d rather be seen as a show off than stupid. 

He clears his throat. “I’ll go grab your mug-er, do you want a cuppa?”

It was all rather precious. Not that she would ever say that to his face-- but the energy that he gave off was easy to breathe through; he seemed to be one of the only people he’d met in this building that wasn’t working a hidden agenda into any conversation that had with you. 

When there was a quick lull where he went to breathe she inserted herself. “Not to keen on sports, in Hogwarts it was more of an enjoyent of the comraderie rather than an interest in the game. My brother loves basketball so I’m somewhat familiar. I’m glad to have the head’s up, as last minute news tends to drive me a bit batty. I probably won’t be able to stop you, and so far we think it’s a group of recent Hogwarts graduates who’s heads are a bit up up their own bums.” 

She took a long breath and smiled, having sone what she could to make sure she didn’t leave him hanging. She was already anticipating the change in scenario when she was working with someone that enjoyed to engage, rather than drone at you. 

“I would love one. 2 lumps of sugar and no milk please. And I could probably be convinced to continue the loan of the mug if you pinky promise to treat it nicely..” She shifted in her chair. “You know, take it for a nice steak dinner, make sure you don’t use any other mugs in front of it... stuff like that”  

[thearthurweasley]

Someone New || Arthur & Amelia

“Miss Bones?” 

Arthur offers her a crooked smile as she looks up at him from her desk. She’s striking-he’s noticed that before, he does have working eyes and general self consciousness around hot people-but he’d never noticed how interesting her eyes were. Green mixed with gold made larger by the delicate wire frame glasses she wears.

“Er-hi. Weasley, in case you didn’t remember, I know you have lots of people circling through here.” He was pretty sure none of the others were lanky ginger  bespeckled gits, but he’s giving her an out.

“I stole your pink mug that one time, remember? Still sorry about that, bit under resourced over in Muggle Artifacts. Uh.”

Arthur produces the golf ball in the sealed anti-magical case. 

“They sent me to come talk to you about these, if you’ve got a moment? Recurring theme cropping up, unforunately, wondering if it matched someone in your records?”

@habeas-bones​

[habeas-bones]

“Arthur.” She smiles at him as he approaches, appreciating that there’s a change of scenery in what has been an otherwise montonous day. They couldn’t all be winners, though Amelia wished fervently that they could. “Of course I remember. You’re the only one in muggle artfacts that takes a joke with ease.”

Her eyebrows raise at the mention of the mug, which was missing from the small gather of other various mugs that were shoved int he corner of her desk. Amelia also noticed that he came mugless. “You know, I was about to walk over to aurors and report theft, but I suppose that can wait for another day-- what’s up?

She reaches out her hands to grab the box, and with an affirming head nod from him she takes it, holding it up and turning it around to get a better look at it. “I think you’re right, Weasley.” She looked up at him-- he really had quite a nice smile. “We’ve been having some issues with althletes participating in muggle sports with enchanted equipment recently.” She pushed her galsses up from where they’d slipped to. “Normally it wouldn’t really be an issue. But they’re flagrently perorming feats in public that are alerting Muggles. That and we have a contingency of them that are using them to participate in high profile games which are bringing them notoriety, which ultimately becomes dangerous for us.”:

[habeas-bones]

“A ditch, eh? Quite generous of him. Do you think he wanks off to the thought of it?”

He stares at Amelia for a little too long and distracts himself by knocking back the glass of whiskey. He sighs, not looking at her now, staring at the photos. Gruesome shit. 

That itch, the one he couldn’t not scratch, perks up again in the back of his brain, beating against the wall of drunkeness. 

It might be a nice break from cheating spouses and taking out business rivalaries. That’s the only reason he’s considering it.

Alastor finds her eyes and knows he’s a liar and about as worthless as she thinks he is. 

“I forgot how fuckin’ pretty you are.” 

Another lie. Whiskey. It’s the whiskey that makes him sound so sad. That has to be it. Alastor sighs again. He picks up one of the crime scene photos-there’s a tiny Chudley Cannons pin on the collar of this man’s coat. Festive. Hopeful. A lie too. 

“So…what?” He sucks a little on his teeth, putting the photo back down and turning back to fill another whiskey glass.

“Do you want me to catch this guy or uh…” He glances over to give her a grim grin. “Strike back?”

Amelia rolls her eyes-- she forgot just how quickly he was able to make the hair on the back of her neck stand up. 

She chooses to not brush over his comment, her heart twisting despite it. It’s the whiskey, and the passage of time that is easier to pretend wasn’t littered with seeping wounds of frustration that they’d never be able to reconcile. Alastory Moody and closure did not seem coexist. 

Her eyes land on one of the images and she’s hit with the quick falsh of nausea that happens when she forgets to look at crime scenes through the eyes of an auror. It all goes to sidewyas when she remembers that they’re  more than just a puzzles to solve. 

“Catching is preferable, but striking back if it’s not possible. I need to stop this by whatever means necessary.” She flicks one of the photos over so she doesn’t have to look at it anymore. 

“Do you think that you’re up for it?”

[habeas-bones]

He takes the file but doesn’t look at it.

“One…two….three….”

Alastor glances at her, holds her eyes and then opens the file. He points at one of the photos.

“That’s a dead guy. And this-” He points to the Magical Law Enforcement seal on the file before he closes it and hands it back to her.

“Means it’s not my fucking problem.” 

He pushes his fingers through his hair and its so greasy it sticks up. He wanders around to his desk and retrieves a bottle of whiskey, taking a shot right out of the bottle. Al grimmaces and looks over at her.

“I was fired. That’s my opinion, Auror Bones.”

The ghost of his manners is the the only thing that prevents him from spitting on the floor. He waves his wand and two dusty spotted glasses appear. He pours her a drink and sends it over to her, levitating in the air beside Amelia. 

“You still didn’t answer my question-what are you really here for, eh? Surveillance for good ole Barty?”

“Actually, that’s a fact, Ex-Auror Moody.” 

She follows him into the room, wishing that she had been surprised by his response. But Alastor was nothing if not a creature of habit to her, and it wasn’t his sunny disposition that had brought her to his door step. 

She takes the drink in hand, immediately putting it down on the nearest surface. The accursation of being a snitch to Barty Crouch burns her, but not enough for a retaliation, as it’s an accusation based in truth. The early days of her career had seen her be only the loyalest of rule followers, a devout belief in the system and the structure that she knew, when followed properly, would lead to justice and equity. But years of watching the system be abused, of sickles being thrist into the right pockets and guilty men walk free had inclined her to see Moody’s way a bit more, that perhaps the right thing was not always in line with the laws that were governed for them. 

“Crouch would much rather prefer to pretend that you’re dead in a ditch somewhere. I’m here for me, Moody.” She pauses, sliding out the picture of the victims from the envelope so that they’re fanned across the table. “And for them. We both know that you weren’t fired due to lack of ability.” 

[privatemadeye]

Knockturn PI || Amelia

Alastor squints, closing his left eye to really focus. He rocks backwards and forwards, trying to gain the right kind of power and momentum-the knife is balanced perfectly between his index finger and thumb. 

He has his shot lined up, he leans back, starts to throw-

Someone knocks on is door three times in quick succession. Al jumps and consequently,his knife misses the dart board completely.

“Blast!” Moody glares at the picture of Crouch he has on the bullseye and heads downstairs to his office. Office might be a general term, but it was the space that had a door to the street and cluttered desk that technically held case files. His clients didn’t come to him for his organization abilities, and he didn’t give enough of a shit to have any.

Moody pulls his knife off of the wall and straps it back into his boot, he wields his wand, wary of the knocking. He checks the foe glass he keeps right by the staircase down-everyone is as blurry as usual, but he’s pretty sure Dolohov flips him off. Moody chuckles, then stiffens when the knocking comes again, harsher.

“Seven hells!” He shouts-it’s 2pm, if someone wants to try him in the light of day, he wouldn’t mind getting some aggression out. He stomps down the stairs and shouts as loud as he can. “I fucking heard you-” 

Alastor opens the door and sees Amelia Bones. If he’d been slightly drunker, he would’ve thrown up. He sets his jaw and swallows hard, and looks her right in the eye. He wills his emotions to die, or better yet, come to life and murder him right there.

“What do you want?” 

@habeas-bones​

[habeas-bones]

He looks like hell. Though she couldn’t remember the last time he didn’t look like hell. The scent of stale booze wafted towards her and she couldn’t her but grimace-- Her eyebrow lifts, unimpressed. “You somehow manage to have a home and be homeless simultaneously. Charming.” She was not charmed. 

She doesn’t wait for the invitation she knows isn’t coming. Instead she takes a delicate step in, her hee just grazing a wadded us newpaper before she is in his vestibule, where the stench has become more noticeable. Amelia shakes it off before continuing. She puts on hand in her bag, rummages around for a second beofer pulling out a slim blue envelope. She knows that Alastor isn’t going to take her request well-- she’d be more surprised if he did, actually. But it isn’t about comfort, or peace for the two of them, who probably would’ve gotten on better if they never spoke to one another again. But she needed the best, and despite his aroma and general appearance, he was the best. 

“Take a look at this, think about it for at least four seconds, and tell me what you think.” She handed over the file for the criminal that had been plaguing amelia for the past few weeks. Men, found with marks that confused the hell out of her, had been showing up around London. Just when she thought she’d nailed down an idea of who she was looking for, she’d find something else-- she was no closer to finding the person than when they first left their mark, but a steady stream of bodies-- one every three days-- was beginning to pile on her doorstep. 

[bnmxfld]

David Foster Wallace / Infinite Jest

[habeas-bones]

Amelia held the teacup in her hands, turning it over to watch it catch the light. She’d found it tucked away in the back of a consignment shop, forgotten among the masses of old hardware and books of titles so worn it was impossible to identify them until you opened them to realize they were abandoned almanacs. It had a blue green shine to it, depending on when and how you were looking at it, but what had caught Amelia’s eye was the trasncription around the teacup. What looked like nonsensical nicks were actually, upon closer inspection, the marks of a language Amelia believed to be mermish. She’d found no saucer, or any other peice that looked like it belonged with the cup, but it hadn’t stopped her for buying it for a couple of sickles and squirrleing it away to her office, where it sat on the corner of her desk for her afternoon tea. In moments where she needed to center herself she’d run her fingers around the side of it-- as if she could memorize what it said by touch alone. 

It was in this moment that a shadow by her door caught her unaware, her fingers slipped, and the cup hit the ground, shattering into a tiny thousand peices. SHe swore, pulling her wand out of her hair and spelling it back together before looking up at Kinglsey sheepishly. 

“You know, I’m far more trustworthy with cases than china, unfortunately” 

@k-shacklebolt​

[habeas-bones]

Catchup || Arthur + Amelia

“You would think” Amelia said, kicking her feet up on the corner of Arthur’s desk, nudging a particularly precarious stack of papers, “that the man would have some more goddamn respect for his own supervisor but no, he had the audacity to ask me to go fetch him a cup of coffee, like I was his goddamn intern or something.” She twirled a stray curl behind her ear. “I couldn’t believe it-- but then again there was a reason that he didn’t get promoted and he knows it, he wouldn ‘t know litigation if it crawled up his own ass.”

She took a breath, noticing the slightly glazed look in Arthur’s eyes, though not surprising given that she was rambling on about the unimportant minutea that kept her from doing herself in. 

“Tell me what’s going on with you. Keep me from shoving my heel in the poor man’s face.”

[habeas-bones]

Text: Amelia & Open

Andromeda:Just glad to hear from someone other then a child, even if it was an accident.

Amelia: God, that bad?

[habeas-bones]

Weasley's Good Graces // Shacklebones

Kingsley: yes but your fury knows no bounds. Moody's is erratic. can be handled with the cold shoulder or a frosted donut.

Amelia: I am desperately curious to see myself through your eyes.

[habeas-bones]

Weasley's Good Graces // Shacklebones

Kingsley: did you see that DID YOU SEE THAT.

Kingsley: don't think i don't care; i just grabbed dawlish by the collar and told him moody wants him in for a promotion meeting in five.

Amelia: I SAW IT I SAW IT

Amelia: You wonderful, lovely man

Amelia: Though prepare for the inevitable backlash from Moody-- he hates him more than us combined

[habeas-bones]

Weasley's Good Graces // Shacklebones

Kingsley: but he's...okay.

Kingsley: fine.

Kingsley: also i tried to get dawlish to ask someone else to look over his legal paperwork for court but he insisted on coming to you SORRY.

Amelia:....

Amelia: 🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻

Amelia: I hope Arthur spits in your face