#amelia 1

[dohnjawlish]

when: 31 sugust, 1979 where: no. 7 low street who: @liabones

“Oh, sorry, is Daphne in?”

[spellnbone]

night before

Location: Amelia’s Apartment Time: 30th of November, or perhaps already past midnight Status: Closed, for @justicebones

Sleep was undeniably vital. For those who’d stand face to face with the Death Eaters, as much as for those who had to stay alert, had to make sure everything was going to plan. Sleep was vital for it would make them quick the next day. Quick, in motion as well as in thinking. Sleep was vital that night for it would save them their lives tomorrow. 

And yet sleep didn’t come. Edgar was certain it had been here for a while, but the ever-churning thoughts about tomorrow, the details of their plan going through his head again and again, it had pushed it away again. Had brought him back to his shallow-breathed state of wakefulness. Perhaps if he were to get up and write everything down again, it would stay out of his mind? Perhaps if we went out for a walk until his limbs were too tired and would force him to sleep? Perhaps if he sought out Caradoc or Fabian, getting a few drinks ... or none. 

Either way. He had to do something. He couldn’t just lie in his own bed and fret something which could not yet be dealt with anyway. So he finally opened his eyes and turned to find the Muggle alarm clock (it was a radio, too! Amazing, no?) on his night stand but -- there was no nightstand. And it was also by far darker in this room than in his own bedroom, where the flickering red lights of China Town always kept night at bay. Edgar blinked, and with a perfectly mix of startle at exhilaration, he realised that he wasn’t in his own apartment at all. 

“Amelia!” he whispered, suddenly remembering why he had already managed to fall asleep once: he had already left his bed, a few hours prior, the same circling thoughts in his head as had been there moments ago, and for one of those reasons that could not be explained by logic, his feet had carried him not to a pub or his friends, but to Amelia’s apartment. She had not told him she’d be back that day already, but when his keys had unlocked the door to her apartment and he had found her right there, unpacking, he had not been surprised at all. 

Without missing a beat, they had fallen into their habitual conversations, as though not weeks lay between their last talk, but simply a few hours. If even that much. You see, time moves differently for those whose hearts only beat when they’re together, and Edgar and Amelia had long stopped questioning it. Eventually, then, they had fallen into bed, and Edgar had found the precious sleep he had hoped for. The precious sleep he now needed to come back so desperately. 

He turned his head, and whispered again: “Amelia?” but this with more determination to wake her up. She didn’t know what was going to happen tomorrow, and Edgar wouldn’t tell her, but he knew that she’d manage to soothe his fears even so. So he turned around fully, slipping under her arm and scooting up close, looking at her with the big brown eyes of a hungry, impatient cat waiting to be fed in the morning. Amelia was (one of) the only person around which Edgar allowed to express impatience, allowed to look just vulnerable enough to please be taken care of, and after being separated from her for song long, he felt it was only fair to be a burden for a bit. Slipping his leg between hers as he so often did, his own arms curling tightly to his chest as he scooted closer still, he began tapping his fingers lightly against her lips. Like an impatient cat indeed. 

[madeye-mccdy]

 when: february 14, 1979

where: valentine’s ball

who: @ameliajbones

Alastor walked among his peers of other Aurors at the ministry event to save face and keep the Order’s cover. A Valentine’s Day Ball. The thought had Moody shaking his head, believing their government would make any excuse to throw such a soiree and distract the people from the real issues at hand. As such, and an integral part of the Aurors, Moody made a flashy appearance - donning a black blazer with brass buttons and a red kilt to match. If he had to play a role of the distraction piece of their mission - which he was relieved to have gotten - he was going to look the part.

Which also meant participating in the festivities. Opening the sporran at the front of his kilt, Moody took out his flask in a flourish to take a swig of his rather strong firewhiskey. As he did, from the corner of his eye, Alastor spotted Amelia Bones. A smile spread on his lips, walking up to her easily, “Miss Bones,” he lifted his flask as a sort of cheers and acknowledgement, “you look fetching. Keeping an eye on the other ministry members?”