amelia bones. twenty-two. ex-hufflepuff. law enforcement for the ministry of magic, specializing in judiciary matters. sister to edgar and allan bones.
For Gem and Lyra, the drabbles whores that they are.Â
St. Mungoâs reeked with the foreboding stench of death, overwhelming the small, bright pockets of new life bursting from every end of the hospital. It had the appearance of being both clean and filthy; the nurses could easily expunge the blood, guts and vomit from the tile floors but never be able to rid the place of the layers of bad memory invisibly stacked upon each other.
The Department of Magical Law Enforcement had quite the good reputation with the hospital: they were patients and defenders of the over-exposed hallways, frazzled healers and magical beeping machines. Every division in the department would make regular visits to St. Mungoâs - to check up on victims of Unforgivable Curses, to investigate the safety of the building, and to insure that the muggle tweaked devices used on patients were both harmless and flaw-free.Â
But it was not for work that Amelia Bones conversed with the mannequin to gain access into the blindingly light receptionistâs office. She hadnât come with the purpose to hand files over to the Head Healer (as was her usual business in the hospital), nor had she popped in to check up on an Imperiused witness for an impending trial hearing. Ameliaâs intent was practically the opposite.Â
âIâm here to see Mrs. Susanne Dinah Bones - formerly Stevenson,â she stated firmly to the Welcome Witch hidden behind a brand new copy of âWitch Weeklyâ, whose headline read: â104 Tips to Transform Your Date Night Look Into Something Scrumptiously Sexy!â. Amelia forced herself not to roll her eyes as the witch with lank brown hair and raccoon eyes lowered the magazine slowly. No one read anything of substance anymore; it was becoming torturous to even read the Daily Prophet. Most articles were dramatized, and the ones that werenât were so horribly edited that all the true facts had been removed, leaving only fluff and false hope.Â
The witch tapped her wand against the top of her desk, whispering a charm Amelia couldnât quite recognize. Probably something created by one of the Healers for the hospital, she mused, her heeled shoe beating against the polished white floor. Following the knock, a series of numbers and letters floated from the table-top, arranged themselves and spelled out the coordinates to her sister-in-lawâs room. âFirst Floor,â the Welcome Witch said monotonously, waving the floating numbers from her vision and picking her magazine back up. âat the end of the hall on that floor, make a right, then another right, then a left, and the ward will be there. Roomâs 179. The other patients on the floor have creature related injuries.â
Nodding a thank you, Amelia shouldered her bag and ventured over to one of the open elevator doors. Her heart thumped unevenly. Allan had already been to see them; she hadnât seen a happier expression grace his features since before their parents had been murdered. But her younger brother had always been good with children, just as he was with animals. Everyone fell for his innocent good looks and brilliant smile - everyone wanted to talk to the boy who could calm your owl or listen dutifully to your problems. Amelia hadnât been graced with Edgarâs corny (but lovable) humour, or Allanâs good grace. She was fair, but rigid in demeanor. Every move seemed planned - as if she had scribbled into a small notebook to bring a hand to her mouth at exactly 3:24. It wasnât her fault that she didnât seem genuine; the weight of her parentâs deaths combined with being one of the only women in the department had taken its tole on her once buoyant perspective on life.Â
As the Welcome Witch had said, Susanneâs ward was at the end of the hall, to the right, to the right, and to the left. Room 179 was printed clearly on the last door on the right side of the large, square room; it was slightly ajar, allowing the cool air to waft through the crack and into the warm hall. Wiping her hands on her Ministry regulated robes, Amelia rapped on the door - three concise, even knocks. âCome in,â she heard her brother say; he seemed tired, but intensely exhilarated.Â
Susanne was propped up on a few hospital regulation pillows, her sunken-in eyes and unwashed strawberry blonde locks taking nothing away from her ethereal beauty. In her arms was a small - no, tiny, minuscule - bundle of pink cloth. Ever the proud father, Edgar stood over his wife and daughter, a tender finger brushing the soft skin of his childâs teeny hand. The scene was too perfect to dismantle; Amelia would have snuck out of the room had her heels not broken the silence.Â
âYouâre here!â Edgar breathed, smiling brilliantly at his younger sister. âI guess youâre here to see her more than us, huh? Sheâs a popular little girl, arenât you, darling?â Her brother bent down to stick his nose near his daughterâs face, only to be swatted at with an uncoordinated hand. Susanne chuckled, shifting the child into one air and beckoning Amelia closer.Â
âShe wonât bite,â Susanne whispered as Amelia took slow, hesitant steps towards her new niece. âI donât think she even has teeth yet. Right?â Edgar nodded enthusiastically; it was obvious that he had been reading all the baby books as opposed to his wife. âNot until sheâs four months old,â her brother said, as proclaiming a recitation from a great work of literature.Â
The baby was transfixing; even in half-slumber, Amelia could see energy bursting from her tiny body. Slowly her hand reached out to graze her nieceâs cheek lightly. It was pillow soft and swathed in peach fuzz - much like what Allan had felt like as an infant. Memories from her childhood bloomed like large, complex floral designs, so bright and so vivid that she fumbled a step back from the child. âDo you want to hold her?â Susanne asked, tilting her head towards her sister-in-law. Panic, along with the memories, flooded through Ameliaâs small frame. What if she dropped her niece - or perhaps held her the wrong way? She had heard horror stories from her colleagues about paralyzing small children by not properly holding their necks, but that may have just come up to scare her even more so.Â
Wrenching herself from her reverie, Amelia nodded shakily and held out her hands flat in anticipation. Edgar laughed and shook his head. Am I doing something wrong? she thought, panicking. âYouâre not holding a filebox, âMelia,â he said, using his hands to shape hers. âhold her like this.â
She almost didnât notice Susanne put the baby into her arms; she was so light, so easy. So fragile.Â
 And for a moment, a singular, perfect moment, Amelia Bones forgot all about the stench of the hospital, the layers upon layers of invisible memory slathered on the seemingly clean, pearly floors. This little bundle - this small person, at the very beginning of (Amelia hoped, wished, prayed) a very long and fulfilling life, was pure. She was untouched by war, by the inhumane acts of the outside world and the terrible deeds done by one to another. This hospital kept her safe and held her inside a small bubble of blissful ignorance. Amelia could only wish life for her niece would always be like this: happy, guarded, foolishly giddy. But life wasnât created to be easy - and their situation certainly wasnât a piece of cake.Â
Her nieceâs hazy, blue green eyes floated open, wide and unfocused. So defenseless, she thought, tracing the curve of the childâs cheek with her forefinger. So undeserving of the life outside these walls.Â
âHer name - itâs Amy,â her brother said, breaking Amelia out of her moment with the child. âWe wanted to name her after you.â
Tears willfully filled her eyes; she had always hated crying.Â
No oneâs ever going to touch you, she thought tenderly, making a silent promise to herself and to Amy. Iâd die before someone hurt you.
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