(no subject)

[wand_wavers]

It’s Amelia who wakes first, gasping, in the middle of the night. Her husband is used to the negotiations of having a shared bed after all these years, both consciously and unconsciously, so his reaction is simply to turn his head, and breathe a little differently. But Amelia Bones, Minister for Magic, ignores this and reaches for her bedside table. It wasn’t a dream that woke her, nor the pressing need of her bladder - instead, it was a sound.

Just a sound, that’s it, that’s all. A sound heard half-awake, at that, so that it could just as easily have been the hoot of an owl as the creak of a footstep upon a stair. But Amelia is not the Minister of Magic for nothing, and she is well aware that she is not living in the safest of times. So she makes her movements as quietly as she is able in the inadequate light, holding her wand tight as she pulls on her bathrobe.

There is nothing more as she makes her way to the doorway of her bedroom, nothing save the sound of her own breathing, which she suppresses as well as she is able. She steps carefully, knowing her own home so well by now, able to avoid each fickle floorboard. When she reaches the door she unlocks it with a soft word, silencing the click that would normally come when she turns the handle; these are the benefits that magic gives these days.

And then - a shape. There, on the landing. Someone lurking, dressed in dark robes, and Amelia sees the wand in his hand. She raises her own and is part way through a curse before the young man turns, and in the moonlight she recognizes him.

“Oh. I thought it was...”

“Everything alright, Minister?”

Because that’s what happens when you’re an important person in a time of war: they fill your house with Aurors.

“Yes. It’s nothing. I thought I’d heard something, but it was probably just you on my landing.”

“Sorry, Minister,” he says, and adds, “What did it sound like?”

Amelia gives a half-shrug, and an embarrassed sort of smile. The kinds of things that she would never do during the day. Right now, however, she’s not the Minister for Magic, she’s Amelia Bones, feeling very old and very tired and very silly, standing on her landing on her housecoat in the middle of the night.

“I think it was just -”

But she never finishes the thought. At that moment, from downstairs, there is an aborted scream.

The Auror immediately pushes her back towards her bedroom: “Minister. Stay here. Go inside, lock the door,” and then he runs, down the stairs faster than is strictly safe. Amelia’s mind is frozen, locked in concern and fear. She wants to help but she knows that she’s too important, too valuable; others may die tonight so that she will be safe, that’s why they’re here. It’s noisy downstairs now, and the walls are flickering with reflected spell-light, green and blue and red. Amelia takes a step towards her bedroom and then pauses, looks back, but it’s a mistake. There at the bottom of the stairs, staring up at her, a Death Eater.

His mask, like bone, so bright in the moonlight, hides his eyes, but Amelia knows they’ve spotted her, knows she’s done for. She makes a strangled gasp and pushes at her bedroom door, but even as she does she knows the movement has doomed not just herself, but her husband as well, and guilt clutches at her. Her charms aren’t strong enough to lock them out, and for all of her composure she’s crying, because her husband is awake now, sitting up in bed, asking her what’s going on? and she can’t answer.

And somewhere she hears the hoot of an owl; and somewhere she hears the creak of a footstep upon a stair.

And a minute later, Amelia Bones finds silence.

---

A special edition of the Daily Prophet is hastily written and rushed out all over Britain, and then over the world, on the wings of tired owls. The front page headline screams:

Horror in Wandsworth

The Minister of Magic, Amelia Bones, along with her husband and security attachment of five, were murdered in the pre-dawn hours at the Minister's home in Wandsworth. The Dark Mark was in plain evidence, and the Ministry has released an official statement that this was, indeed, the work of You-Know-Who and his followers.

The bodies were recovered thanks to prompt action by Aurors alerted by special security wards linked to the Ministry.

It is not known at this time how many Death Eaters were involved or how they entered the residence, as security was stringent and Anti-Apparation charms were placed upon the home to keep anyone from Apparating into the house or onto the grounds.

Rufus Scrimgeour, Head of the Auror Office, has been named acting Minister of Magic, and is personally overseeing the case. "We have nothing more to say at this time," he said at the official press conference. "Know that we are doing everything in our power to track down the perpetrators of this terrible crime. We ask the wizards and witches of Britain to remain calm whilst implementing the security measures we've promoted in the past year."

No word has been released on funeral arrangements.

The rest of this thin newspaper is comprised of security reminders and brief obituaries on all those assassinated.

Comments

[thecoolone]

It's the tapping of an Egyptian Nightjar's beak against the glass window that wakens Bill in the middle of the night: it's such an unusual sight that he sits bolt upright and hurries to let the curious bird in.

His surprise doubles at the newspaper clutched in its talons; quickly, he rummages around for a treat and offers it up. The graceful bird gobbles it down and perches on the window ledge without a further sound, but Bill gets the feeling the bird is watching him.

"Lumos." Careful not to awaken Fleur, Bill spreads out the paper as quietly as possible. He doesn't often take the Prophet at this place; it must be something important. Scanning the article, he stops, frozen.

"This can't be."

It's worse than he thought. With a quick glance at his sleeping wife, he reads the article again and again, hoping it might be some sort of cruel joke but with each reread, his hopes are dashed.

"Fuck."

He doesn't -- didn't -- know Amelia Bones but still, it's the work of Voldemort. Voldemort. The one he knows as Tom.

Tom with a snake inside in this or any other timeline, and suddenly the stakes for all of them are too huge to be imaginable. And on a personal level it's their life here and their life there; it's there and London; it's Ottery St Catchpole and Hogwarts: it's everywhere.

None of them are safe.

Not a single one.

Fuck. Blindly, he reaches for quill and parchment and scribbles a note to his parents. Mum, Dad, all right, then? We're good. Just checking in. Love from Bill and Fleur.

He motions over the Nightjar. "Here. Can you find a way to get this to London as quickly as possible?" The bird extends a talon and waits patiently while the parchment is tied to its leg. "Thank you, friend. I owe you."

The article calls to him; he reads it again and again before finally setting it down and turning to study Fleur's sleeping form.

No. No one touches you, Fleur. I'll do whatever I must to keep you and our baby safe.

[leplusbeau]

It isn't until hours later, when Bill is making tea, that she wakes up. She doesn't find the paper until after she had to run to the bathroom because her morning sickness does come in the morning.

Fleur sits down on the bed once she reads the headline. Bill had folded the paper so she would have to open it up fully before she could see it. It is. A surprise is a light term.

She rips out part of the article, but most importantly, the headline and scribbles a quick note on the back, then leans out the window over their bed. On the window ledge below is a row of roosting kestrels, and Fleur whistles to them. One flies up to her, perches on the ledge, and tips her heads.

"Do you think you can fly a very long way tonight, mademoiselle?"

The bird blinks and offers out her leg.

"Merci," as she ties the note to the bird's leg. "To Paris, Madam Delacour. As quick as you can, please. I am sure they will give you several big, fat mice for your troubles."

The kestrel blinks again then is off, quick as a flash.

The note read Do not know what is next. Leave Paris. Love, Fleur.

[thecoolone]

As soon as he sees the paper unfolded, he knows: he did the same thing. The first instinct is always to protect.

Always.

"What did you tell your mum, Fleur?" He doesn't much care for rereading the front page another time. "I think we might need to get back to London. It's no safer here."

[leplusbeau]

She gives Bill a helpless look. "To leave Paris. She will not listen, you know. But I can try."

"...you think so? You love it 'ere." The comforter is twisting and twisting in her hand.

[thecoolone]

Bill shakes his head. "Whether or not I love it here is irrelevant. What matters is safety. What matters most is where you and our child will be safest, Fleur. And if I have to take you back to the end of the universe, I will. If it's London, we'll go there. If it's Hogwarts, that's the place, and if it's deep inside the very centre of a pyramid... you see? I don't want you endangered."

With a resigned sigh, he opens the bureau drawer and takes out a stack of newspapers. "Do you see these?" Some are in English and some are in Arabic. "For months now, I've been watching the papers. This thing that happened to the Minister is not the first killing. There have been so many unsolved murders: here, on the continent, in the States: it's a global thing. I don't know where anyone can go that's safe, and of course, general panic is exactly what they want."

Think, Bill, think. You can do that.

[leplusbeau]

Her forehead wrinkles. And she is frowning.

"You put thiz together. You kept thiz. From me."

When she looks up, Fleur is almost glaring at Bill. "You want to protect me. So you keep thingz from me because you know I do not pay attention like I should. And I do not keep an tight ear on my ...not so very innocent friendz like I used to."

"So there iz death and destruction around the world, juste for a change in pace, and you want to go back to London and...what?"

[thecoolone]

Bill's eyes narrow. "This isn't about you. It's not about whether or not I think you're a big enough girl to hear the news. It's about me trying to puzzle the pieces together before I inadvertently frighten you into a miscarriage."

Shaking his head, he shoves the newspapers back into their drawer and turns to leave the room.

"Don't you belittle what I do or second-guess my methods. This is my country and you don't know it. You don't know it at all."

[leplusbeau]

"Oui! Oui! I am juste a Frog! A stupid little Frog that iz that idiotic and assuming enough to juste pop at the first hint of trouble! Oui, I nevah risked my life for you or your cause even if I do not believe!"

Oh, this is going well. The air is almost crackling, and Fleur's hair is standing on end.

[thecoolone]

Bill turns back slowly.

"Which is it you don't believe in, Fleur: me or my cause?"

It's already been a very bad day. It might as well get even worse.

[leplusbeau]

That surprised her. The wave of rage subsides a bit.

"I. I alwayz believe in you. I trust you. I trust our friendz. I do not trust your Order. Iz no different than." She stops.

"Do you trust me?" Her face is blank when she asks.

[thecoolone]

"Of course I do."

He's livid that she even has to ask.

"And what is the Order no different from? Let's get this all out in the open, shall we? Because I don't want to have this discussion again. Ever."

It's as if the door frame is the only thing holding him up at the moment. They've had disagreements before, but they were never anything like this. The feeling spreading up from the pit of his stomach isn't a particularly good one. He'd rather not have to question and reassess everything at once, but if that's what it takes, he'll do it.

Fuck.

[leplusbeau]

"Another Dark Lord."

[thecoolone]

"I risk my life for no Dark wizard." The words are a hiss, all venom. "It wasn't the Order that kidnapped me and held me in a dungeon. It wasn't the Order that took me and Tonks to Dover last June. And it wasn't the Order who killed Minister Bones: you remember that."

With that, Bill turns once again and storms out of their flat, the flush of anger on his face matching his hair... and then some.

[leplusbeau]

"Where are you--?!" Even as the door slams.

He just walked out after an assassination and Merlin knows what else would happen today and.

One of the expensive vases from Cairo goes flying and smashes against the wall. Not one of the priceless ones. She still has some sense, and stops short when she gets near the papyrus enchanted for good luck.

She sinks down between the bed and the wall, leaning her head back against the mattress. With both hands on her belly, she says firmly, "Will be okay. Promise. It will. Iz my first promise to you, oui? First promisez should nevah be broken."