Hello dear reader,
I am Owls the Sailor, and I haven't been writing on her for a while. But schools out now and I have finally managed a piece, hopefully soon I will manage to get my multi-chap up and running again. But for now, I'm focusing on these little drabbles for a forum I moderate (and you'll find in my bio).
Prompts:
AU - the Longbottoms don't go insane and raise Neville
Qudditch Pitch - Alice Longbottom
Drabble Club - "Tell me what it is you need."
Word count: 573
Now enjoy, and if you want to see more (I'm probably going to write more anyways), don't be a stranger with those reviews.
Hoots,
Owls
Alice was about to cry, and not in the pretty way like they did in muggle movies or on magazine covers. She was going to cry until her face turned red and blotchy and her eyes crossed; she was going to break down in the way that no one had before; she was going to crack like a dam. It was going to be horrible.
When Frank was away at work for hours, it was hard enough. But his latest mission had sent him off to a foreign country for weeks. Weeks. Firstly, she had never been with Neville by herself for weeks. Secondly, she had to do everything by herself for weeks– which was dangerous as it was, avoiding death eaters and the Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly all asking about her special baby boy.
It was hard (really hard, tremendously hard to be alone with a one year old) but Neville was sweet most of the time. He rarely cried, and he was always so well behaved and quiet. She could do work while he was sleeping or playing and nothing bad would happen, but there were days– especially recently– where he would cry for hours and hours on end with no sign of stopping.
Alice looked up at the clock above the entrance to the kitchen. Half-past seven. Neville had been crying since two o'clock in the morning, and had only stopped for food and bathroom breaks: both of which were extremely short. Her head was pounding from it, but she had already taken too many potions and didn't want risk it.
"Tell me what it is you need," she cried to the snivelling one-year old. He was sitting in his highchair, a spoon enchanted to feed him trying to do so, but only managing to fling food everywhere. She was sitting next to him at the small kitchen table, the checkered cloth smattered with the food that she had so painstakingly made with no incident.
Neville blow out with his plump, red cheeks and laughed as green peas puree clung to Alice's pixie cut and spattered onto her freckled face. She slowly opened her eyes and looked up and around. She felt as if the world had just collapsed; it was a moment of clarity,and that's when the tears started. They poured like a waterfalls down her cheeks cleaning them of green baby food, and for the first time in days Neville was completely and totally silent.
"Ma…" Neville muttered smacking his hands on the table. "Mama." He said again, and then again, and again, and again, into a triumphant crescendoing chorus, above the sound of her sobs.
Alice looked up to him, smiling gently at him. She wiped a shaky hand against her cheek, the tears disappearing from her eyes. "What was that sweetie?"
"Mama," Neville said again, before blowing out his cheeks. He laughed at the funny noise he made; and she laughed because it was all worth it in the end really.
"Good job, Neville!" She stood up and squished his cheeks.
"Mama." He smacked her face with his hands and started to rub the green pea mix in deeper.
Alice laughed again, picking him up and out of his chair, resting him on her hip. "Can you say, Mummy?"
"Ma-" he began again, focusing hard on patting her face. "Ma!"
"How about Dada?" She tried again.
"Mama! Mama!"
"Daddy's going to hate this," Alice grinned.