Blushes and Burdens
Bones Manor — Letters and Unspoken Feelings
Amelia Bones stood in her sitting room, letter in hand.
She had read it once.
Twice.
A third time—slower.
"You would look even cuter wearing something other than formal Ministry attire."
Her face burned.
Red crept from her cheeks to her ears in seconds.
"…Merlin," she muttered, pressing the parchment lightly to her chest. "That man is impossible."
Her mind immediately betrayed her, imagining dresses she hadn't worn in years—soft fabrics, lighter colors, clothes not meant to command a courtroom.
Her heart beat faster.
"Amelia?"
She startled.
The door opened, and Susan Bones stepped inside.
Her eyes went straight to the letter.
Susan squinted.
"…That seal," she said slowly. "That's not Ministry."
Amelia turned too late.
Susan was already close enough to see the signature.
Keith.
Susan's lips pressed into a pout instantly.
"…Oh," she said. "It's him."
Amelia cleared her throat.
"It's… professional."
Susan gave her a look that clearly said liar.
She crossed her arms, cheeks puffed slightly.
"I knew it," Susan muttered. "I knew he'd write back."
Amelia blinked.
"You don't sound surprised."
Susan hesitated—then sighed dramatically and flopped into a chair.
"…I like him too," she admitted. "I've liked him for a while."
Amelia softened.
She knew that look.
"And you're jealous," Amelia said gently.
"A little," Susan admitted, then straightened. "But mostly motivated."
She reached for parchment.
"If he's writing letters," Susan said firmly, "then so am I."
Amelia watched, amused and faintly helpless, as Susan began to write with determination.
Susan's Letter
Keith,
Aunt Amelia looked like she was about to combust after reading your letter.
I assume you did that on purpose.
I'm not writing to complain—just to remind you that you still owe me a proper conversation. Preferably one that doesn't involve Ministry corridors or train platforms.
Also, if you make my aunt blush again, I expect you to take responsibility.
—Susan
She sealed it decisively.
Then glanced at Amelia.
"…I'm not mad," Susan added quickly. "Just… competitive."
Amelia laughed despite herself.
Malfoy Manor — A Lesson in Power
Draco Malfoy stood stiffly in his father's study.
Lucius paced.
"You're old enough now," Lucius said sharply. "Old enough to understand how power works."
Draco frowned.
"I thought power was influence."
Lucius stopped and turned.
"No," he said coldly. "Power is survival."
He thrust a Daily Prophet into Draco's hands.
"Read."
Draco skimmed the article—fines, raids, whispers.
His jaw tightened.
"We're still rich," Draco said defensively.
Lucius smiled thinly.
"For now."
He placed a hand on Draco's shoulder, grip iron-hard.
"You will attend dinners. Speak when spoken to. Remember names. Remember debts."
Draco swallowed.
"This isn't Hogwarts politics," Lucius continued. "This is war without wands."
Draco looked up.
"And if we lose?"
Lucius's eyes hardened.
"We don't."
But even as he said it—
The manor felt colder.
And somewhere far away—
Keith Argus Runcandel read two letters and smiled.
The board was filling with pieces.
And the game had truly begun.