My son doesn't visit me anymore. He used to, before, as often as he could. Of course, to a mother, even that is never quite enough, but it was something. But lately, he has stopped altogether. It makes me wonder if he only used to come because his grandmother forced him to, but he always seemed to genuinely want to see me…

Or perhaps it is because he too has a family of his own now. His wife is a lovely witch, and I couldn't be happier for him. I don't think she likes me very much however. Not that she has said or even implied as much, but I'm not a fool. It's justifiable, I suppose. Who would want to spend time with a crazy old lady? But sometimes, I imagine the conversations we would have if she did visit me. I would share silly little anecdotes about his childhood, things that he did as a young boy that are meant to be laughed upon in later years. I would teach her the recipes to the dishes he loved… Does she know he loved my homemade lemon pudding as a baby? And then I would ask her too. Ask if I had a grandchild, perhaps, or, if she was happy with him, and he with her.

Thinking of these things is pointless, of course. But it keeps me hopeful, for a future that could happen. Oddly enough, it reminds me of the past too. I used to sit for hours listening to tales told by my mother-in-law. She never treated me as anything less than a daughter, anyway. It made the old woman happy to have someone to speak to her, to listen, and besides, it gave me some leverage when I needed a favour out of my husband. It was all in good fun, of course. That is all I seem to do nowadays, however. Think; about the past, and the future. There is little in my present that is of interest to anyone, even me.

What was I talking about? Oh yes, my husband. My ex-husband, I suppose, I should call him, though I don't remember there really being a divorce. I do forget a lot of things, however, so I could be wrong. But anyway, I don't see him around much either, these days. I suppose he grew tired of me, just like everyone else. If you had told me such a thing when we first met, I would have laughed in your face... but times change. We were schoolmates, housemates, even, at Hogwarts. Ours was never a whirlwind romance, but in those dark times, it was more than enough. We worked together too, and we were quite a duo, if I do say so myself. We fought so many battles and had quite a few close calls too, but we were always there for each other in the end.

Then... something happened. I don't remember what it was, really, but thinking about it hurts, so I try to forget. It must have been a terrible event of some sort, because both of us ended up here after it.

Here, as I keep calling it, is some sort of strange building. I'm not sure what its purpose is, but it reminds me a bit of those muggle retirement homes I used to hear about. I'm not the only one here, of course. There are a lot of people, and most of them have some strange quirks. I wonder if they think the same of me too? A lot of them just keep to themselves, though some of them are "friends" with each other. I use the term rather loosely, when I say that. And me? No, I don't have any friends. Except my ex-husband, I guess. He used to be right beside me. It was comforting to have his presence, though we never talked much. I don't think he really understood me, actually. It's strange, because I remember communication was never one of our problems.

Now that I come to think of it, I don't think my son quite understood me either, all the times he visited. It worked both ways too. Whatever he said rarely made sense to me, but like a good mother I smiled, nodded and pretended to understand. Occasionally, I even gave him little gifts to show my appreciation. I'm proud of him, after all. But he always seemed confused by them, somehow. Odd, isn't it?

Well, as for my husband, he left one day. Suddenly, out of the blue, without saying a word. When I say left, I do mean they took him away. He didn't resist though, so I can only assume he wanted to leave.

I was sad about it, for a long time. Understandably so, I think. Even the others seemed to sympathise with me, then. Oh, no, I don't mean the others who live here. I mean the caretakers or Healers that come here often enough to give us food and poke and prod us with potions and spells. I don't know why they call themselves Healers, though. Obviously none of us here are sick. But believe it or not, I've never had the chance to ask them. They never really seem interested in talking, despite the daily visits. The last time I tried, they gave me a look, the kind you would give a child who doesn't understand anything, and then continued with the spells. I was a little offended, but they didn't seem to care.

I think, that's what irks me most about this place. No one seems to care. Everything feels so… impersonal. It's almost as if I'm trapped here. In a way, I am, because I cannot find a way out of here. Trust me, I've tried. Something goes wrong every time. And no one listens to me either. I've told them a million times that those windows need curtains and that my pillow is too hard, but they blink and move on. I know there are worse places to be stuck in, but I'd rather be free, out in the world. It's been so long since I've seen it.

Which is why I'm glad you came. You're not like the others. You will tell me all about the world, won't you? Oh wait, how rude of me. I've been blabbering on so long, but I didn't even tell you my name!

My name is Alice. Alice Longbottom.

Notes: For the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition!

Position: Beater 1.

Team: Kenmare Kestrels

Main Prompt: BEATER 1: Write a writing style you've never written before (eg. poetry, first person, letter!fic) (I chose first person)

Optional prompts: Homemade, Divorce

Words: 1074 and A/N (Google docs) / 1113 and A/N (FFN)