For the Speed of Lightning Competition. "I want you to write a fanfiction in which your main characters (however many of them there are) are ALL characters that you've NEVER written about before." Minimum 3000 words.
.
"Absolutely Maddening"
The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… and either must die by the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives… the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…
Frank paces back and forth across the small office floor. "And you think this could refer to Neville?" he asks, his voice mildly tinged with panic.
Alice can't contain a small laugh. "Since when have you believed in Divination, Frank?" she asks. She knows it shouldn't be funny. It should be a very serious situation. The Headmaster has just informed them that their baby boy could be destined to defeat Voldemort. But Alice Longbottom has never much believed in Divination or prophecies, not even when she was Alice Prewett. She doesn't set much stock in the things that are intangible – things she cannot see, cannot touch, and cannot see the effects of.
And Frank has always been like that too. It's why she loves him – he's grounded firmly in reality. He's got his head screwed on straight; he knows which way is up and which way is down. He's solid and dependable and always there in a very present way.
Alice is like that too, in a way, but at the same time, she's the dreamer. She sees the future wrapped in gold and glittering – all it could be. Frank is firmly grounded in the present, Alice fully invested in the future, and both of them consumed by what is real.
Which is why she's rather surprised at Frank's reaction to Headmaster Dumbledore's relaying the prophecy. His agitation doesn't seem to fit with skepticism.
He turns to face her, and his eyes are frenzied. "Al, Neville could be a target!"
"Prophecies are useless. Do you know how many go unfulfilled? Thousands. And only a fraction of that number are ever completely realized, and most of those are self-fulfilling. Frankly, the odds of a Divanist getting something right are about the odds of me spilling out some random prediction and getting it right."
Frank shakes his head. "Alice, this isn't the kind of thing you bet on."
"As unfortunate as it is, Mrs. Longbottom, I think your husband is right." Headmaster Dumbledore steeples his hands serenely. "However, you have a point, pertaining to self-fulfilling prophecies. A majority of prophecies that wind up being fulfilled are, in fact, self-fulfilling. Which is why this incidence is of particular interest – or, perhaps, rather, concern. A follower of Lord Voldemort's heard the beginning of the prophecy before we were interrupted. 'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies.' And I believe that much of the prophecy is enough to infuriate and motivate Lord Voldemort to the point where he will do anything to find and destroy the one in the prophecy. That, I believe, is where the rest of it will come into play."
Alice feels her face fall. "He knows?"
The Headmaster nods somberly. "Yes, Mrs. Longbottom. I am afraid he knows."
Alice drops her head into her hands, her elbows propped on her knees. "Why does it have to be my baby?" she whispers brokenly, the severity of the situation finally sinking in.
Frank settles on the arm of her chair and wraps his arms around her.
"It may not be," the Headmaster points out calmly. "Two children fit the parameters at the moment. Your son Neville, and James and Lily Potter's child – Harry."
Both Longbottom heads snap up at once. A wave of relief washes through Alice, immediately followed by a wave of guilt. She feels bad for being relieved – happy, even – that the Potters' son is a target, too. But she is. Because it means her son isn't doomed. It means her son isn't the only one with a target painted on his back.
She drops her head back into her hands.
Frank kisses the top of her head, right on her short black hair, and then he resumes his pacing. "So the Dark Lord knows this? That it's either Neville or Harry?"
Dumbledore nods. "It would be simple enough to figure out, with his contacts at Saint Mungos and within the Ministry."
Frank sighs. "Of course."
The Headmaster raises his chin slightly. "I think the best course of action at this juncture, then, is whatever protection we can grant. I suggest the Fidelius Charm. Are you aware of the intricacies of the Charm in question?"
Alice nods – Charms was always her area of expertise. "So we need a Secret Keeper, then?"
The Headmaster nods serenely. "Yes, Mrs. Longbottom. That is precisely what we need. And I will extend to you the same offer to which I extended the Potters – I will be your Secret Keeper, if you wish. I understand if you have an alternative option preferred, as they did…"
But Frank is already shaking his head. "I can think of no one better, Headmaster." Alice nods in agreement.
He smiles slightly. "I appreciate the sentiments." His expression becomes more serious. "I assume you want to maintain your current living arrangements.
After a single exchanged glance, Frank and Alice nod at the same time.
"Very well. I think it best if we proceed with utmost urgency," the Headmaster says. "After all, one can never be too cautious."
Frank smiles – it's something he's said to Alice before, too many times to count. When her dreaming gets out of hand and she foregoes the present for visions of the future – though not prophetic visions, of course, because Alice doesn't hold with such nonsense – Frank has always been the one to bring her back to earth.
Frank resumes his pacing again. "Okay," he says. "All right."
Alice smiles at her frazzled husband and then asks, "What's your earliest convenience, Headmaster?"
His long fingertips tap against each other, the heels of his palms resting on his desk.
"I think Friday at about 7 in the evening would be suitable."
Alice nods. "Thank you, sir."
It's not until they get home that Alice finally allows herself to cry. She barely makes it inside the fireplace before crumpling to the floor, her shoulders shaking. Frank sinks down right beside her, wrapping his strong arms around her shoulders.
He doesn't try to say anything – not for a very long time. He just holds her and lets her sob, which is exactly what Alice needs and another reason she loves him. She needs, in moments like these, just to know that he's there, and he knows that. Without trying to fumble for words or stutter through meaningless platitudes, he knows that. And he doesn't try to stop the tears. He just lets her cry.
"It isn't fair," she finally whispers hoarsely.
His arms tighten around her shoulders. "No, Al, it's not."
He lets the life isn't fair go unsaid, which Alice appreciates.
She turns to look into his brown eyes. "Why does it have to be our baby?" she whispers. "Why?"
"I don't know, Alice."
He doesn't try to lie to her. He doesn't try to make something up. He doesn't blame Fate, or karma, or bad luck. Not Merlin or some unnamed deity. He doesn't even try to cloak it in fancy words or buffer it with useless phrases. He just admits the truth, plain and simple.
She touches his cheek softly. "I hope Neville grows up to be like you," she murmurs.
"He'll do better than that," Frank replies. "He'll grow up to be the best of both of us."
Alice kisses him softly and then slowly stands. "I'll pick him up from your mother's."
Standing beside her now, Frank tousles her short hair, grinning as he does. "Let me."
She scowls at him, and he blows her a cheeky kiss and vanishes into the Floo. Alice can't help the upturn at the corners of her lips. How did I get so lucky? she wonders. But then she realizes. And yet, so unlucky at the same time?
Alice wonders vaguely if perhaps all the luck in the world is balanced – if she used up so much of her good luck getting Frank that there's none left anymore – but she quickly dismisses the idea. It's ridiculous and unsubstantiated. But then, the bad feeling creeping up and down her spine is just a unsubstantiated, yet it's the reason Alice checks over her shoulder five times while moving through their small home. You're being ridiculous, Alice, she tells herself.
She still jumps a mile when Frank puts a hand on her shoulder from behind. She laughs it off with a careless I didn't hear you come in, and Frank pretends to buy it as he plasters on a smile and tells her that Neville's already asleep. But wrapped up in his arms that night, Alice knows that she will not sleep. Neither will he, but both of them will pretend not to notice.
Because that's how they are, both of them. If they don't acknowledge the fact that anything is wrong, it can't touch them. And neither will bring a sensitive topic up until the other does first, and so it never happens. They never talk about it.
And maybe there are times when Alice wishes that that were different, maybe there are times that she wishes they could communicate, confide like other people do. But most of the time she's grateful that Frank doesn't want to pry, most of the time she's grateful that if she doesn't want to talk about it, he won't make her talk about it.
~AL~
"Sir? Is there anything we can do to help?" Alice is bouncing Neville lightly on her hip as she poses her query.
Headmaster Dumbledore is pacing around the base of their house, and he appears to be counting his steps. It seems to Alice a rather uncharacteristic thing for him to do, but then she remembers, from the book she'd bought yesterday, that the Fidelius Charm requires as many rotations of the caster's wand as paces it took to surround the area in question – both counts had to be from the same witch or wizard.
She steps back and lets the Headmaster count, shushing Neville gently when he giggles. After the Headmaster finishes, he smiles at her gently. "I appreciate the offer, Mrs. Longbottom, but this is, as they say, a one-wizard spell."
Alice nods. "Yes, Headmaster."
His eyes twinkle. "I have not been your Headmaster in years, Mrs. Longbottom."
Smiling, Alice replies, "Of course not, sir, but you'll always be Headmaster Dumbledore to me."
He seems amused, but he merely nods. "You'll want to step out of the area, however, Mrs. Longbottom. As you cannot be told the Secret until after the spell is performed, the area would likely… eject you."
Alice knows her eyes widen as she takes a quick series of steps backward, Frank with her. Blue eyes twinkle again. Neville giggles once more.
Alice watches avidly as the Headmaster waves his wand in an intricate pattern. His lips move but he does not speak aloud. After a few moments, he closes his eyes and his wand stills, remaining pointed at their house. His left palm also faces in that direction, and as his lips continue to trace unuttered words, blue light begins to grow – first from his wand, then from his other palm. It grows and stretches and expands, engulfing their entire house in a translucent cobalt dome.
The blue shimmers, its light growing brighter and brighter until Alice is forced to look away. When she looks back, her house is gone. It's an unnerving situation, to say the least. She knows, cognitively, that the house is there. She knows it is. But she can't see it. The houses of her neighbors are closer together than they used to be, just a small alley in between. The baby boy on her hip begins to cry.
As she attempts to comfort him, her eyes scan the alley, looking for the building that she knows can't fit in the space, but at the same time knows is supposed to be – no, is – there.
"Number 7, White Rose Lane," the Headmaster says very clearly. Alice blinks as their house grows to occupy the space where it belongs.
"Wicked," she breathes.
Frank laughs lightly. "That about sums it up."
Neville appears to have gone silent, staring avidly at the house from nowhere. Suddenly, he giggles again.
"That is a very happy boy you've got, Mrs. Longbottom. I hope he stays that way." And then Dumbledore is gone.
Alice and Frank exchange a shrug at the Headmaster's peculiar leave-taking and then return home. It seems oddly anticlimactic – it's almost as though it feels like something should be different, something should have changed, but nothing has. Their house is exactly the same as it was 20 minutes ago when they walked outside. Just, now only four people can see it.
~AL~
By Neville's first birthday, Frank Longbottom is convinced that he's going insane, and Alice is right there with him. They're both Aurors for a reason – because they want to fight. They want to do something good, something productive. They want to fight for what they believe in, and neither one of them can stand sitting at home doing nothing. Hiding. Like cowards. Like they're too afraid to leave their little cave of safety.
It's absolutely maddening.
Alice tells herself a thousand times, two thousand times, three thousand, that they're doing this for Neville. They're hiding because their baby boy deserves a chance at life, and out there he won't get it.
But what, she asks herself, is he learning in the process? That it's okay to run away from your problems? Don't face your fears, hide from them? Holing yourself away can solve anything? Those aren't the lessons she wants to teach him. That isn't what she wants him to learn. She wants him to learn about fighting for what he believes in, no matter what. She wants him to learn about standing up for what's right, even if he's standing alone. She wants him to learn about integrity, honesty, bravery. Courage.
And after 8 months of hiding, Alice's own mind is driving her over the edge. Because her own mind is practically all she has left – her mind, Frank, and Neville. The Headmaster stops by occasionally, but he's got a war to worry about.
So she thinks. A lot. Too much. More than too much. And she, who has always been the dreamer, becomes utterly consumed by the future and what it could bring. She worries about consequences – because she can already see it happening. This is changing them, and not in ways that she likes.
Frank fares better. He's so solid, so grounded in right now, that he lives day by day, and she thinks that some part of him always believes that they'll be able to leave tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Every day.
Alice has been counting the months. It was October when they first found out about the prophecy, first cast the Fidelius. They made it through October. November. December. Christmas was hard. January was easier, in a way. The dreary weather meant the urge to go outside was at least dulled, though certainly not gone. February, March, and April all slid and blurred together. During May and June, they finally began to get used to the routine of doing nothing and trying to keep themselves occupied in the little house. What used to be a home had somehow become a prison.
And that left them here. July 31st. Neville's 1st birthday. Alice couldn't help but feel like it should be more special than this. The Headmaster stopped by for a few minutes before he was called away. Alice baked a cake. Neville giggled a lot.
That was it. Beyond that, it was just like any other day. She sick of it, sick of this. She wants to do something.
August is the hardest. August 17, 1981. Headmaster Dumbledore arrives, but not for a casual visit.
"Mrs. Longbottom, I'm afraid I come bearing grave news."
"What is it, Headmaster?" Alice asks softly.
"I'm sorry. Your cousins Fabian and Gideon were killed and a battle earlier this morning."
Alice sits down hard in the chair Frank instinctively slides behind her. He knows her too well.
"What?" she chokes out.
"I am sorry, Mrs. Longbottom. If it helps, they saved many lives in the process. It was very noble."
Frank seems to sense that Alice isn't able to speak. "It doesn't," he says softly. Alice just nods, carefully. He's said exactly what she's thinking. It doesn't help. They're dead, and there's nothing that can be done about it.
She remembers two smiling, twin-grin redhead boys who loved nothing more than to make her laugh. Alice loved her cousins – they were like brothers to her. Molly was older, and Alice had never really spoken to her enough, but Fabian and Gideon, despite being still several years older than Alice, always made time for her.
Her lips twitch ever-so-slightly as she thinks about how they were always attached at the hip. At least they went together.
The Headmaster nods somberly. "I offer my condolences," he says quietly.
Some detached part of Alice's mind notices that the Headmaster never seems to say goodbye, but the larger part is consumed by grief.
It gets a lot harder to stay penned in after that. Knowing that people she loves are fighting, dying – and that maybe if she was out there, she could do something about it. That makes everything harder. All she wants to do is leave, to fight, to see the people that she cares about, just to know they're all okay.
But she can't.
The rest of August is agonizing. September is brutal. And October marks one year in hiding. One year without ever having left their house. One year of tested patience, tested limits.
Alice is just about at the end of her rope.
And then, suddenly, it's all over.
Voldemort is gone.
James and Lily Potter are dead.
Alice cries with relief, and then she cries out of guilt for her tears of relief. And she pictures that baby boy, little Harry, all alone, and Alice wants to help him. She gets the papers from the ministry, partly out of guilt, partly out of empathy, and partly because she knows it's what Lily would have done. She's going to attempt to adopt Harry Potter.
The papers are still sitting on her table when they come.
~AL~
One of the last things that Alice experiences while she's still Alice is an aching throat. Her throat is raw, torn apart. She's screaming. This fact saddens the small part of her not completely consumed by pain. She doesn't want to scream. She doesn't want to give these people the satisfaction.
Their names run through her battered mind. Bellatrix Lestrange. Bartemius Crouch. Rabastan Lestrange. Rodolphus Lestrange. They sear themselves into the charred remains of her brain, leaving them to remain when nothing else does.
And then, suddenly, solid, grounded, dreamer, Alice is no more. Because while the names of those who attacked her have become permanent pain, nothing else remains. Fire has torn through the sensitive connections in her brain, leaving nothing but what came after the flames.
And Alice who is not Alice weeps, because she does not know.