School: Hogwarts
Year: 4th Year
Prompts: Main: [Setting] St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries
[Setting] Astronomy Tower
Story Title: Alice
Warnings: Heavy swearing.
Wordcount: 1892 (before AN)
ALICE
You are Alice Fortescue. Pure-Blood. The only daughter of Jonathan Fortescue and Amelia Fortescue; a respected member of a Pure-Blood society. A proud member of a Ravenclaw house.
You are Alice Fortescue, and you would never be good enough in your father's eyes, not in the way you've always hoped to be ever since you were a small child. It is due to the simple fact that you are a woman. The only purpose women serve in this society is to bear the perfect Pure-Blood heir for your future husband. You would need to successfully convince other members of high society you haven't managed to spectacularly fail at this sacred duty.
You are Alice Fortescue, and you think you hate your baby brother; he is five years younger than you. He is a Slytherin; a miniature version of the father you have come to despise. You think you hate him more than you hate anyone else in your whole life. You hate him because he's the living reminder of what you could never hope to become. Because your father treats him like he's the most precious little thing to have ever existed, and without Aidan Gabriel having to even try—and you have tried so hard to gain his respect and admiration—he has this man's love and respect.
It is so hard to hate Aidan Gabriel for many reasons; because he smiles at you like you are the best thing to have ever happened to him in his whole life, like as long as you are here with him, he would be just fine. You think you hate him because he makes it so hard to try to hate him. This foolish little boy you would protect with your own life.
You are Alice Fortescue, and you think Francis 'Frank' Longbottom is the stupidest boy to have ever existed. You do not think you are exaggerating; because he spends all day in the greenhouse tending to flowers or hanging around with those little boys that are so often playing pranks—you call it bullying—on other children, just because they've been unfortunate enough to be sorted into a house they despise. You think Frank could do better things with his life; he's intelligent enough, he makes you laugh sometimes.
You even think, wonder even, that you wouldn't mind marrying him one day. But of course, you know your father would never accept such a match. After all, he'd been dead-set for you to make a fine, high society match and marry Rabastan Lestrange—a cruel, cruel boy—your whole life. You think you would rather fall to your death than marry such a sadistic little asshole.
You are Alice Fortescue, and you don't have many friends. You have Narcissa and Regulus to hang around with, of course. But lately, Narcissa had been busy trying to become the perfect Pure-Blood wife, and Regulus had been far too busy trying to convince everyone he wasn't anything like his foolish brother, Sirius, to be able to pay you any attention. You are lonely, and you drag Regulus shopping in Hogsmeade because you cannot take any more of the loneliness that creeps through your skin during the night. Regulus spends the entire time looking suspiciously over his shoulder like he thinks there's something dark lurking over there.
You wonder if he's right, and about what it would mean if it were to come true. You think you are afraid of what is to come after you graduate; after you would start taking a more active role in the war; after you would make a choice that would forever determine your future. You think of all the dead Muggles you saw laying on the streets this summer, and you don't think the choice is so simple anymore.
You are Alice Fortescue, and today is your graduation day. You are in the Astronomy Tower, and you are gazing up at the sky above for any sign of the stars you've loved to gaze at since you were a child. Suddenly you hear the sound of steps; It's Frank Longbottom, and he's smiling in the most ridiculous way possible. You think you want to hug him. Just because that might make everything okay, just to feel the security of his arms.
You think he would be pretty nice to hug, and you are desperately seeking human contact, but before you can take another step, Frank opens his mouth and says, "I think I am in love with you. I mean, I know I am in love with you."
And your whole life shatters in front of your eyes. Because despite every little thing they have done to make you feel like less—like you would never be enough—you do love your family. You stare at him once again from across the Astronomy Tower; the one place you've always felt like you could fully be yourself without having to pretend even once, without even having to put on the permanent mask you're always putting on to please others. And now, staring at the face of this boy you had become so familiar with throughout the years, the Astronomy Tower doesn't seem the same anymore.
"Would you marry me?"
You shake your head with tears in your eyes, and you think you hate him for making you think of a life you can never have. Because despite how you may feel about your family, you don't think you can afford to be another Andromeda. You cannot choose between your family and this boy you think you just might love; this foolish little boy who cannot even begin to understand the complexity of the choice that he has given you. Frank may not even realize that with his confession, he was asking you to make the most impossible choice.
You make your choice anyway. "I am sorry," you whisper. The wind blows softly, causing your short blond hair to sway ever so slightly with the summer wind. You take a deep intake of breath and smile regretfully at him in the reply, feeling the inevitable pang of a regret that fills your bitter heart; the mere thought of having to hurt him. "But I cannot." The Astronomy Tower will forever be bittersweet to you now, containing both hope and heartbreak.
You are Alice Fortescue, and you think—no, you know—you are heartbroken. You cannot sleep anymore. You cannot eat anymore. And your brother is concerned, in fact, he's more than concerned, and he refuses to leave your side. It makes your father gaze at you accusingly, but you shrug it off. You are more than used to your father's looks; his disdain. It's not even remotely new.
You are Alice Fortescue, and you don't think you can marry Rabastan Lestrange like your father has planned for you, and since you were a child no less. You think he's a cruel monster. You don't think you can live such a life, but more than anything, you don't think you can spend another day without Frank Longbottom there to make you laugh.
Which is why the week before the wedding the Astronomy Tower is all you can think of. You pack up all of your things, and you run away with one last letter written to your family, a letter to explain your reasons. You have reasons for not caring about the consequences of your careless actions. You want Frank, and you're going to have him one way or another.
You are Alice Fortescue, and you marry Frank Longbottom the summer you turn nineteen. Your brother arrives at the wedding with the widest smile you've ever seen on his face. He hugs you so tightly you can barely breathe, and you think you might just love him; this little boy you once thought you hated.
"Make my sister cry, and I'll come to murder you myself," your brother promises Frank with a teasing little grin. You couldn't have been any more proud of him. This little brother that in so many ways made you realize just how strong you were–are.
You are Alice Longbottom, and you don't think Neville is a good name for a son, but Frank stares at you like he actually expects you to agree with his choice. You love Frank, and even if it's only to not make him stop looking so bloody hopeful, you nod your head and agree. Three weeks later, Neville Longbottom is born one fine evening in late July, and you couldn't have loved anyone more than you love him. St Mungo's is a place of hope, a place of new beginnings, a place that brought her her family. He is small and rose-cheeked with fine strands of blond hair that sways swiftly along with the summer wind in the small hospital room at St. Mungo's, it's bright happy, warm, you look around, and you know that this is a perfect memory, a memory to treasure. He's everything you've always wished for in a son and even more.
You are Alice Longbottom, and you think you are going to die. There's Bellatrix Lestrange standing in front of you with an evil glint in her eye, and you cannot for the life of you see the resemblance between her and the two friends you've always been thankful to have.
You throw a spell in her direction, but she easily dodges it and throws a curse of her own. All of a sudden you are on your back as pain courses through your body, and you are trying not to scream, but the pain is too much, far too much for you to bear. You think of Frank; he is laying beside you, screaming in agony, all you can hear are his screams, always screaming. You don't think you can take any more, but you think of Neville, and for the first time today, you feel relief settle within you. You don't know what will happen to you, but you feel sure that Neville will be safe, you are reassured by the fact at the very least he was with Augusta.
You are Alice Longbottom, and you are in St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Just like the Astronomy Tower, it is now bittersweet. The place of hope and new beginnings, and now your home. If you were able to remember. The thing is, you don't know anything anymore. You live in St Mungo's in a world of fog. There is no more Astronomy Tower, no more Frank, no Aiden, and no more Neville.
"Mom, it's me, Neville," somebody says, and you turn your head to that somebody and blink your eyes in confusion. The name means something, but you are having a hard time trying to remember why that name is so important.
"Neville?"
The summer breeze gently blows through the open hospital window. You stare dreamingly at this tall, blond-haired boy you cannot just bring yourself to recognize—familiar, so bloody familiar. You blink your blue eyes at him once again, and you burst into a fit of a giggles—you vaguely remember a small boy with the sweetest smile you had ever seen; blue eyes that stare at you hopefully when you smile down at him from across the living room — and you stare at him quite happily, touch his arm gently with the small edges of your fingers and you ask with a sweet, innocent little smile, "Who's Neville?"