He almost lost the girl over his mother. Frank saw this as a problem, although he had initially shrugged it off when it happened. Alice was a pretty, simple girl, and these "problems", whatever they were, would fix themselves. Time resolved anything and everything. The Ministry used to call him the pampered prince. He was a wealthy young man, and he wasn't bad looking, either. (His mother told him so.) There had been other women, Frank reasoned with himself as he read over a report for the ninth or tenth time. He'd lost count as the words seeped through his brain, carrying no meaning whatsoever.
"You are boring me," growled a voice, yanking him abruptly from his thoughts.
Mad-Eye Moody had recently gotten a wooden leg from the Healers at St. Mungo's. He walked with a strange, slow gait, every step measured. Things worked well until he got ahead of himself and forgot about the prosthetic. Yesterday, he went facedown on the pavement whilst chasing a suspected Death Eater in the East End. It had rained for days.
Frank signed the bottom of the document, knowing full well he didn't read it. He'd probably pay for it later. He waved his wand, and the piece converted itself into an interdepartmental memo and zoomed away. Mad-Eye's voice carried and Frank wasn't in the mood for an open discussion, so he got heavily to his feet and wandered over to the other Auror's desk.
Frank stepped inside the cubicle, uncomfortable with the tight fit and crossed his arms. Mad-Eye either didn't get the message or ignored it altogether. A walking stick leaned against the wall in the corner.
"What do you want, sir?" Frank added the last part as an afterthought because he checked his tone. Mad-Eye, who had reached inside his robes, no doubt fingering his wand, dropped his gnarled hand. "I haven't slept since Thursday. I can't find Mr. Carrow or his sister."
"And you waited three days to tell me," said Mad-Eye. He didn't look up from the briefing he read. It was Frank's. "You ought to have written this on a napkin and tossed it in a bin for all the good it does me."
"Yes." Frank stood behind his work for good or ill.
"How long have you been here?" Mad-Eye shot at him, tossing the report aside.
Frank stood up straighter and held his hands behind his back. "Eighteen years. And I know better."
Mad-Eye chewed something in the side of his mouth that wasn't there. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and apparently decided, upon reflection, it was better to keep his mouth shut. Frank had, in effect, steered his own telling off. Mad-Eye slammed his wooden leg on a crate.
"Help me take this off, will you? It hurts." Mad-Eye dropped the conversation and grimaced out of the side of his lopsided mouth, something Frank took as good enough for a smile.
"Yes." Frank knelt onto the floor in an awkward position and unhooked the hinges with careful fingers. This leg was a prototype, a test run, because Mad-Eye was due to be fitted for the real thing in August or September. Frank set the leg aside and took an embroidered handkerchief out of his pocket to catch the mess. "It's infected again. You got any antiseptic or hydrogen peroxide? That's better."
Mad-Eye pointed a gnarled hand at a drawer. He pointed his wand lazily at the cabinet and its door sprang open. Checking out the wound with quick fingers, Frank helped himself to sterilization kit, opened it, pulled on gloves, lay down the cloth, and opened the brown bottle one-handed.
"It's gonna hurt. Sorry." Frank poured the solution over the wound, wishing he had better light.
Quick and dirty left out the necessities and common sense. A reflexive reaction, Mad-Eye's good leg jerked. He kicked Frank hard in the teeth. Frank, taken aback, crumpled onto the floor and spilled the rest of the solution. Cursing, he spit blood onto the floor as it flooded into his mouth.
"Sorry," muttered Mad-Eye, taking over the bandaging of his own leg. The brown fluid, the cleaning agent, flowed from his leg.
"Nah. We're good." Frank's eyes watered. He took out his wand and gathered the majority of the mess in the blue drop cloth before tossing it in the wastebasket. He got to his feet and sat on the edge of Mad-Eye's desk. He wiped his brow, chucking at a memory. "Remember the time you pulled that for real when I was in training? I've never been kicked while I was down so hard in my life, Mad-Eye.. You kept coming and coming."
"You got the point. You don't quit." Mad-Eye did not sound apologetic. Frank checked the bandages and reattached the leg. "Thank you."
"Stay off of it. I mean it this time." Frank checked the time and rolled his eyes. He was fifteen minutes late for a training session. "I gotta go. No pursuits. Take it easy today, all right? Yell at people. Not me."
Mad-Eye yelled after Frank as he retreated into the training quarters. "You're not my mother!"
Not really listening to him, Frank gave him a half-hearted wave. He stopped outside the Annex, the training quarters, and placed his wand on the brass scales. The scales vibrated and announced his presence and his badge number like some friendly female voiceover. The wall disappeared. Frank stepped into a brick walled room with punching bags and training equipment. There were three recruits huddled in the corner. One, a thin black man, wore a single golden hoop in his ear. There hadn't been a woman accepted into the Auror Office since Alice.
Alice, a small woman, stood with her feet apart punching one of the bags. She wore loose cotton pants and a t-shirt with some trainers. Frank smiled, admiring her as she switched flawlessly into a kicking stance and kept her fists closed. Her dark hair was tied back in a high ponytail. Spotting Frank, she stopped the demonstration, slowed the momentum of the bag, and picked a thermos off the floor.
"1300 means 1300, Longbottom," she said, taking a swig.
"1317 means close enough." He shrugged it off, knowing she put on the act for the newcomers. He walked over to a cubbyhole, found his on the third row, fifth to the right, slipped off his dress shoes and exchanging them for his old trainers. He felt them all watching him and clapped his hands together. "Right. So, let's get the housekeeping out of the way, shall we? If ,you're more than three minutes late, you're gone. No sick days. If anything so much as shoplifting charge finds its way onto your record, you'll be walking out the door. Disobey a direct order, especially from a senior officer, I'll throw you out personally. Lie to me, you'd better pray. Are we clear?"
"Yes, sir." They spoke in unison.
"No wands, gentlemen. We're testing stamina today." Frank flexed the fingers of his left hand and pointed at the one with the earring. They circled around the mat in the centre of the room. "What's your name? Give me your strengths and weaknesses."
The recruit stood there after approaching Frank with caution. He raised his hands and guarded his face, a good sign.
"Alice Margaret Longbottom, 37." Alice took another swig from her bottle and turned to face them, fearless. "My strengths are negotiation, interrogation, dueling, combat and pursuit. My weaknesses? I struggle with international law and testifying in court. They love that. Oh, andm,i, m I forget my paperwork sometimes."
"Sometimes," Frank said softly, shaking his head as the group laughed good-naturedly. Alice had a knack for breaking the ice. "Alice, honey, let's be honest. You don't even know proper formatting anymore. You avoid busywork like the plague."
"Nobody asked you," she said, picking the recruit with the long ponytail. She touched his arm. "And you are?"
"Gawain Robards, ma'am. I'm eighteen. My strengths are timing, organization, and curses. I don't know much more than that."
"But you're learning. That's why we get you three years before we place you in the real world." Alice clapped him on the shoulder and nodded to Frank's first puck. "And you, sir?"
"Kingsley Shacklebolt, 19. I took a year off to make sure I wanted to do this." Kingsley nodded at Frank. "I'm level-headed and calm under pressure. I hold my own in dueling. I don't like questioning witnesses, and I, too, ignore the paperwork. I'm really bad at keeping a timetable."
"Fair point, Kingsley. May I call you Kingsley?" Frank did this out of a courtesy. Mad-Eye once told him he could call the recruits whatever he wished. Mad-Eye himself used to number his off in a roll call; recruits earned their proper names back. Frank had been labelled Number Six once upon a time. The recruit nodded. "Join me."
The sparred for a good twenty minutes. Each recruit got five minutes. Frank actually laughed when Kingsley gave him two hard knocks in the jaw, almost dislocating it, that he gave him another go with Alice. Alice lost her footing, tried to catch herself, a mistake, and injured her left foot. Frank dismissed them for the evening before he went over to help her. After changing her clothes, Alice took his hand and hobbled over to a wooden chair.
"That kid is definitely in the lead," said Frank, impressed as he bandaged his wife. He touched her ankle gingerly and shifted the angle of his wand as bandages shot out of the end of it. "I think it's just a sprain. Are you all right?"
"Yes, I'm fine. Alice put weight on the foot and fell back in the chair. "I can't believe I did that."
Frank mended his face without looking in a mirror and kissed her. "Hey, I let Mad-Eye accidentally kick me in the teeth today. There are no judgments. Lean on me. Come on."
"Oh, that's what that was." She doubled her grip around his left arm. "Ouch."
"We have dinner with the parents tonight." He sighed when she groaned and mumbled under her breath about the Order. He hesitated, thinking he already knew the answer to his question. He sprang it on Alice every once in while just to keep her on her toes. They left the Annex and started towards the Atrium. He lowered his voice, nodding at Bode. The man didn't really look like he was all there. "May we tell her yet?"
"What? No. Have you lost your mind? No." Alice stopped walking towards the fireplaces when Mad-Eye called after her. She carried her rucksack over her shoulder. He grimaced when he took hurried steps.
"So, what did you think?" Mad-Eye gripped the walking stick like something he didn't quite know what to do with yet.
"I like the first two. I think the third one's frightened of Frank. Frank loves Kingsley." Alice took Mad-Eye's free gnarled hand and squeezed it. She took a deep, steadying breath. Frank stopped, too, for he had a feeling she was about to rip off the bandage and break the news they'd been hiding for months. "Let's talk."
"About?" Mad-Eye's glass eye danced in its socket. "If you're leaving me and going over to John Dawlish, you're going to come crawling back."
"No." Frank shook his head at Alice and took her hand. If his own mother couldn't know, telling Mad-Eye seemed downright wrong. It was mid-April and they had plenty of time on their hands. He got back on track with a nervous laugh. Why would we ever leave you?"
"Well, Alice's going to have to. She's got one on the oven." Mad-Eye gave a bark-like laugh when Alice, who had reached into her rucksack to grab a sandwich, dropped a wrapped parcel onto the floor. She dropped her hand. "You eat everything in sight, and you're irritable, Alice. You signed your Rowle case off to Dawlish? I like John."
"You don't. You really don't". They said together.
"Yeah, he's a blundering idiot," said Mad-Eye, waving his compliment away. "When you went off on him back in January for getting your tea wrong and starting crying, I knew. You don't cry."
"No." Alice smiled at him. She turned to Frank, wincing a little. Even as she elaborated on her story, or confession, or whatever this was, unbidden tears filled her eyes. "I kind of went off on John in the lift yesterday because he kept asking me about timetables and procedures. He wouldn't shut up. He asked me about leave, and I wanted to hit him. He's so stupid!"
Mad-Eye, chortling, walked away, telling them he'd see them later for the meeting. He did not go into detail, although Frank caught his meaning. Forget about a long dinner with his parents. He'd been through five or six miscarriages with Alice, so they'd never gotten this far. Frank admitted he enjoyed her mood swings because he got to see a softer side of her.
"Come here." He picked the sandwich off the floor and led her over to the Fountain of Magical Brethren. He opened the parcel and handed her half. "Eat. You're getting hysterical, and you're frightening me."
Alice took offense. He saw it in her face. She also took a triangle slice of the sandwich. She polished the other one off, too.
"So, John is your scapegoat, huh?. Oh, this summer's gonna be great. This is gonna be hilarious!" Frank didn't even flinch when she punched him in the arm. "We've got an hour."
He helped Alice to her feet and they stepped through the fireplace. They entered his parents' home, and said a quick hello. His father, Dewey, a heavyset man, sat at the table in the kitchen reading a copy of the Daily Prophet and smoking his favorite pipe. Augusta called after them, probably calling Alice to help her, but Alice just slipped her hand through his, and led Frank into the small downstairs bathroom. Alice jumped into his arms and locked her legs his waist.
She started kissing him. "I want you."
"I'm right here. What're we doing in the bathroom? Oh, yes, I like that." He laughed when she whispered a suggestion in his ear. He felt hesitant, though, fully aware his parents were down the corridor. "In here? Right now?"
Alice dug her heels into his lower back, losing patience fast. "Oh, for the love of God, Frank!"
"Yeah, it doesn't matter." He went for it.
Forgetting everything else, Frank pressed her against the wall. Alice groaned when the hand towel rack dug into her back. When he apologized again, she started kissing him again. Frank started moving his hips and running his hands up her simple blue dress. Frank turned his head when she buried her face in his neck. He caught the profile of a thin woman in green robes in the bathroom mirror. His mother, who had just taken off her hideous vulture hat, stood in the door like a watchman.
He lost whatever he was feeling immediately. "Mama? What're you doing, Mama? Oh, my God." He let go of Alice and apologized yet again when she fell onto the floor.
"I would ask you the same question." Augusta wiped her hands on a dishtowel. "I was going to ask your wife to help me set the table, but she's a little busy."
"Augusta." Alice got to her feet and left them standing there, her face a deep red.
"I invite you to dinner every Wednesday. And she pulls you away to ..." Augusta followed him back into the kitchen.
She smacked him over the head with the dishtowel. Alice had escaped into the dining room with his father absorbed in her task. Frank's father was a quieter than his mother. Augusta slammed pots and pans around in her kitchen. She stirred some sauce a little too vigorously with her wand tip, so the stuff bubbled over a little before she got it under control. She hung the hat on a hook by the door.
"She's reckless, I said, she's self-centered. You've been married for fifteen years, and Alice is worried about her career. What has she given you? She's competing with you. She's using you. You're a much better Auror. She's nothing. Couldn't you have got with some other girl? She's getting fat. What? Is she letting herself go?"
Frank gathered the salad bowls and handed them off to Alice when she came back into the kitchen. He kissed his wife on the cheek before turning to his mother when Alice stepped out. "Mama, that's rude."
Augusta waved her wand and the rich sauce poured itself from the saucepan into some fancy boat. "You want children, don't you, Frank? Alice is almost forty. She's running out of time. Is that what Alice keeps promising you? And you're stupid enough to believe her? I thought I raised you better."
"Mama, stop! Goddamn it!" Frank had stepped over her to grab the serving dish and it clattered onto the floor. Frank took out his wand and muttered, "Reparo!", as the boat repaired itself and the sauce siphoned itself back inside it. Frank took it into the dining room and slammed it onto the table, spilling almost as much as he'd just cleaned up. When his father asked what was the matter, he said, "Your wife!"
Augusta picked up right where she left off when Frank came to grab the side dishes. Furious, Frank washed his hands and leaned over her. Augusta, thinking she'd probably thinking she'd gotten her way, smiled at him.
"Mama, listen to me. Hear me out, all right?" Frank dried his hands on a clean dishtowel and tried to speak evenly. "If you force me to choose, I'm going with Alice because this is no contest. It's always going to be Alice. I will take her and your grandchild, and we will disappear. I will pretend you don't exist. Back off, please. Try me. I dare you."
Augusta stared at him. "Frank."
"Nope. We're done here. Let's eat." Frank walked into the dining room. Frank sat next to Alice.
"Are you all right?" Dewey set a deck of cards off to the side. He collected small, split decks, for they had started to play a hand of some game. He poured his son a glass of wine. He poured three more.
"Yeah, I'm fine." Frank sipped the wine and helped his mother with the plates of spaghetti and meatballs. Neither of them said a word to each other.
"Here, Alice," said Dewey, handing for a glass.
"Oh, I can't Dewey, thank you," she said, tucking into the spaghetti. She watched twirl his spaghetti with a fork and a spoon. "How do you do that?"
"Like this." He lay down his utensils, picked them up again, and showed her three times.
"We don't have time for this, Alice," said Frank, shoveling spaghetti into his mouth when he saw the time. She'd be here all night with his father and still not master the trick.
Dewey offered Alice another glass of wine after dinner.
"I can't, Dewey," she said, more firmly. Dewey, desperate to offer her something, reached into his trouser pocket and handed her two packets of unopened Drooble's Best Blowing Gum. Dewey, a man always partial to his sweets, always carried this stuff around. Alice looked him him, to Frank, and back again. She spoke slowly , pocketing the sweets. "Thanks."
"You're a Healer, Dewey," said Augusta, saving her meatballs for last. "You could take better care of yourself. You shouldn't touch that."
"What do I keep telling you?" Frank nudged his wife.
"He needs grandchildren," sighed Alice, putting her guard down. She reached out to pat Dewey on the arm. "Dewey, I can't drink because I'm pregnant."
Dewey enjoyed a private laugh. His face fell almost comically when Alice pushed her chair back and got up. She walked over, took his left hand, and placed it under her ribcage.
Alice raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to say something. "You feel that?"
Dewey shifted his hand. "You're not kidding."
"No. Alice, we have to go." Frank stood and handed her hid traveling cloak. He said goodbye to his mother. He kissed her on the cheek, but it was more a practiced gesture than anything else. Both he and Alice hugged his father, He sighed, annoyed, when she followed them into the kitchen. "Mama, we're late for work."
Augusta looked at his wife. "Alice."
"What, Augusta?" Alice slipped off her shoe, rubbed her injured foot, and put it back on again.
"You hurt yourself," said Augusta, noticing the strips of the torn bandage on her shoe.
"I've had much worse, trust me. Frank." Alice draped an arm around his waist. When she caught Augusta's pained look, she said, "What does it matter? I'm just using him anyway. Isn't that right?"
Augusta cleared her throat. "I-I didn't mean any of it."
"Yes, you did," they said together. She'd meant all of it.
"What? Now that the secret's out we're all forgiven? Let bygones be bygones?" Alice got annoyed quickly when Augusta tried to speak over her. Frank, going with the safer option of keeping his mouth shut, tried to ignore the time. The top of the hour came and went. "No, this is my child. You got that? You are cold, and manipulative, and controlling. You ought to think about that. Good night. See you next Wednesday."
She strode out the back door. After saying a quick goodbye, Frank followed her, knowing she wouldn't get that far. When they got to the Apparition point, he took her by the arm, and they appeared on a shabby street in London. The Order met at unpredictable times at different locations. This was actually better, in Frank's opinion, because they couldn't track them down so easily. Not everyone showed up at every meeting; Benji Fenwick was responsible for getting the word out. He was rather good at this. Mad-Eye held a lantern aloft and showed they over to an abandoned Muggle bookshop.
"Dorcas is dead," he said without preamble. He must have been keeping an eye out for them because he left the meeting. "We think You-Know-Who got her."
"What?" Alice pulled the traveling cloak tighter around herself.
Frank placed a hand on her shoulder and steered into the bookshop. He pulled up a couple chairs, apologized for running late, and found a box for Alice to elevate her foot. Mad-Eye followed them inside, leaning heavily on his walking stick. Dumbledore usually wrapped up these meetings pretty quick, so Frank and Alice had missed the meat of it. Some of the members had already left.
The Potters were there. Mundungus Fletcher had fallen asleep, drunk, Frank suspected, by a heavy bookshelf. Marlene McKinnon, one of Frank's favorite's took the minutes of the meeting. Sirius Black sat in the corner playing with a box of matches and totally missing the concept. Spent matchsticks littered the floor beside him. Completely distracted, Frank, half-listening to Professor Dumbledore, held up a hand to stop him for a moment.
"Hello." Frank got up and walked over to Sirius. Taking the matchbook from him, he struck three matches, one after another, before handing it back to him. He clapped him on the shoulder. "Do not set this place aflame. I do not want to die in a fire."
"Thanks. You're afraid of fire, Frank?" Sirius struck a match and lit a candle with it, James gave him a thumbs-up.
"I've been set on fire twice. I don't play that game. No, thank you, sir." Frank waved to Professor Dumbledore, asking him to continue, and took his seat again.
"I'm finished." Professor Dumbledore waved to Alice and went to talk to Marlene. He left shortly thereafter with Marlene.
"Set on fire twice? Damn. That's hard-core." James acted mildly interested as he stacked some books. Lily was almost asleep. "By who?"
"Lucius Malfoy the first time. I think that one was freak accident, a mistake, because he was as shocked as me. It's a strange thing, trying to put yourself and your attacker out of fire at the same time." Frank walked over to James and Lily and showed him the scorch marks on his left leg. He nudged Lily with his foot. "You don't want to sleep here, miss, it's dirty. Books are probably moldy."
"And the second time?" Sirius spent his last match.
"I don't remember," said Frank conversationally. He helped Lily to her feet. "Mad-Eye?"
"The Carrow sister and Anton Dolohov," said Mad-Eye, jerking his head at Alice. He simply gave the facts. "They went after your lady, and you provided a human shield. You shoved her out of the way. Second and third degree burns covered half your body, and they knocked you out at 's, which is why you don't remember. They left you two in the snow on Christmas Day after delivering you to my place."
"Oh, my God," said Lily, shaking, horrified.
"I remember," said Alice, gripping the arms of her chair. "I saw you in the hospital, and I thought you were dead. That was five years ago."
"Five years ago," said Frank softly, thinking back. He got lost in his memories for a while. "That was when you lost Anna."
"Yeah." Alice wandered over to the bookshelves.
"Who?" Lily and James sounded confused.
"Nothing. Just don't name your kid before it's born." Frank shook his head, not wanting to talk about dead children. The Potters were a happy couple expecting their first one. Frank's own parents didn't even know about the children who could have been. "There's this whole thing, and you just - you just don't do it, all right?"
"Okay." Lily made circles in the dirt when her feet.
Alice came back sometime later with a thick black volume.
"What did you find, book thief?" Frank grinned at her.
"Mundungus is back there," she said, pulling up another thin volume. She handed over the books. "Put these in the rucksack."
"Le Chateau by Neville Christian St. Claire. The original date of publication ... 1789." Frank checked to make sure it was an English translation. "That'll do."
"It sounds boring," said Sirius, turned off by the title.
"That's the point. We read to each other at night because it keeps insomnia at bay." Frank packed the rucksack again and kissed his wife. "It passes the test."
"You have a boring book test?" Lily leaned against James. "Isn't that adorable?"
"It's weird if you ask me," said James, shrugging. He fell back on the old line, sharing a grin with Sirius. "But they're old..."
"Whoa. Wait a moment." Frank held up a hand.
"I'm not too old to save your skin, Mr. Potter and Mr. Black. Remember last Thursday? Who fought off three Death Eaters single-handedly that afternoon?" Alice shut them up quick and shook Lily's hand. She gave Frank a high five. "You wear me out, boys, you, and Remus, and Peter. You're welcome. Good night."
"Night, boys and miss. Mad-Eye." Frank waved to them and stepped out into the night. Frank tossed the rucksack over his shoulder, declined a stick of chewing gum from Alice, and laughing when she popped a piece in her mouth. She really was a good daughter for Dewey. He took her hand, letting her lean on him for support, and closed his eyes as they disappeared on the spot.