A/N: I'm so tired. I think I've been suffering from sleep deprivation. Ugh. Don't mind my bad writing. I simply cannot write fluff... *buries head in hands* So...yeah. Enjoy, I guess. :D
Disclaimer: Look, do you really think I'm J.K. Rowling? I don't own Harry Potter. Maybe if I wished really hard, and I just happened to see a shooting star...nah. ;)
~Hiding Behind Quidditch Robes~
by Marie E. Brooke
{Dedicated to Panda-chan and Greg-chan}
The night was an infinite dark mass that stretched across the sky, penetrated only by small silver specks that dotted its inky surface. A golden streak zoomed by, so fast that one only had to blink to miss it. It was immediately followed by a dark silhouette mounted on a broomstick, only leaving a few rustling leaves in its wake. Its hand reached out to grasp the fluttering gold ball, lunging forward as much as the broom allowed it to - and cried out in surprise as his fingers curled against empty air. He descended to the ground, landing with about as much grace as a drunken grindylow.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid," he muttered to himself, brushing dust off his Quidditch uniform. He sighed loudly, staring regretfully at the zooming golden ball that he had failed to catch yet again. "STUPID QUIDDITCH!" he yelled suddenly, kicking angrily at the dirt, putting all of his struggles with family pressure and Quidditch (they were the exact same thing) into that single blow to the turf. He immediately regretted it, yelling out and clutching his foot as white-hot pain laced up his leg. He continued on like this for quite some time- hobbling around the field on one leg and cursing Quidditch- until a soft voice snapped him out of his ranting.
"What are you doing out here at the Quidditch pitch at such an ungodly hour? I thought Quidditch practice ended ages ago," said the voice. Judging from its danity tones, the voice was feminine.
"I could ask the same of you," he said dryly.
"I'm just looking for some unicorn hair to use on my project," she said. "To be exact, it's a weaving project. I'm working on making a nice wrap for my mum. It's not going to be any old wrap, though. I'm going to make it without magic. Of course, I'm going to be using some unicorn hair and maybe even some phoenix feathers to make it stand out, but there will be no magic involved. I'll even be using a spinning wheel, which is a Muggle contraption used to turn -" She kept on babbling on about weaving and processing or something, but Frank wasn't listening to a word she was saying because she had just stepped out of the shadows and she was beautiful.
Her thin shoulders were covered with a blue wrap that glowed under the thin strip of moonlight that shone on her, enhancing her every feature. Her steely grey eyes were sparkling, her round face filled with joy as she talked animatedly about sewing, oblivious to all of her surroundings. He had never seen anybody look so - so passionate about something and so obviously in love with it. He idly wondered whether he would ever feel that way about Quidditch. Probably not, he decided, if I don't even like the bloody sport.
Frank was so absorbed in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed that the girl had trailed off. "Sorry," she mumbled, her face an adorable red. She studiously avoided eye contact. "I tend to babble on about things," she explained, still refusing to look at him.
Frank felt slightly ashamed of himself. "It was actually quite entertaining," he protested. Seeing her skeptical expression, he gave in. "Okay, I wasn't actually listening," he admitted sheepishly. "But I'm sure it was very interesting!" he added hastily.
She rolled her eyes. "I thought so," she said, and then frowned. "Hey, I know you!" she cried out suddenly, pointing an accusing finger at him. "You're the Keeper of the Gryffindor Quidditch team!"
"Well, yes."
The frown remained on her face. (Frank thought that she looked much better with a smile.) "So why were you chasing after that snitch?"
Because my dad wants me to master all the roles in Quidditch because he wants me to be just like him, but I really don't care for Quidditch, but I don't have the courage to quit. "How did you know that I was chasing - I mean, what makes you think I was trying to catch the snitch?" he stalled.
She arched an eyebrow at him, giving him an odd look. "Because I saw you when I came onto the Quidditch pitch…?" she said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
It was Frank's turn to go red, and he went redder still when he realized she must have seen his pathetic (not to mention failed) attempt to catch the snitch, and of course the undignified hopping and cursing that followed. "Er, well, of course," he said lamely, after a long, awkward silence.
"So...Why were you practicing out here anyways?" she continued politely.
"And why weren't you practicing with the Quaffle?"
Frank hesitated, then sat down on the ground, gesturing for her to sit down with him. She obliged, arching an eyebrow at him (again) as she lowered herself onto the soft, wet grass.
He gave her a few moments to settle down before speaking. "I'm going to tell you a story," he stated calmly, folding his hands in his lap to stop them from shaking.
Her eyebrow arched even higher, but she didn't say anything out of politeness.
Frank knew that she probably thought he was crazy and he probably was, but it was already too late anyways because he was already speaking. "Once there was a boy named...Bob." He had only a split second to feel embarrassed at the name before the words began to spill out of his mouth in a jumble. "His father was really, really good at Quidditch. He wanted Bob to be just like him, so he made Bob practice every day. But Bob didn't really like Quidditch, but he loved his father and didn't want to let him down, so he kept playing."
Her eyebrow was so high up that he could barely see it under her hair, but she didn't comment on the unusuality of the story and merely nodded for him to continue.
"When Bob went to Hogwarts, his father wanted him to join the Quidditch team. He didn't want to join, but he gave in because his father had already made a bunch of arrangements for him to be accepted into the Quidditch team in his first year. To keep up with all his other teammates, he would practice well into the night."
Her eyes widened and her eyebrows snapped back into place, realization dawning on her face as she let out a small oh!
Frank continued on. "Slowly, he became better. Stronger. And soon, he was the star player of the team. He was utterly devoted to Quidditch. But deep inside, he still didn't like the sport. But his father kept on pushing, and he even wanted his son to master all the other parts of Quidditch. Bob consented because he loved his father and wanted to make him proud, and began to practice at night once more. He started with the Seeker.
"But no matter how many hours he practiced, he still didn't like the sport; not one bit. But then he would think of his father and his team and he would keep on playing." Frank stood up, brushing grass off his Quidditch uniform. "And the rest of the story is unwritten," he finished.
She stood up with him. "Bob really needs to quit Quidditch," she told him.
"But what about Bob's father? And his team? And his reputation?"
"Well, I think Bob should stand up for himself and get some courage." She smiled at him. "After all, that's what Gryffindors are all about, yes?"
Frank never told her Bob was a Gryffindor, but it didn't matter because they both knew who Bob really was.
"I suppose so."
She gripped his shoulders, looking deep into his eyes. Even through his Quidditch uniform, he could feel her warmth spreading across his skin. "Know so," she breathed at him. "True Gryffindors know so. If you don't like Quidditch, put your effort in something else. Imagine what you could do with the effort you put into something you didn't even like." She pulled back suddenly, as if just realizing what she had done, and ran off towards the Forbidden Forest without a backwards glance.
Frank gazed wistfully at her retreating figure for a few more seconds, letting the weight of her words sink in, before shouldering his broom and walking back towards the castle.
~oOo~
After much asking around, Frank finally found out the girl's name: Alice. It was a simple, common name for somebody who was anything but, he thought to himself, spearing a piece of egg with his fork and shoving it into his mouth.
He felt a tap on his shoulder. "Big game in three days," said James Potter, the captain of the Quidditch team. "We'll be practicing after the last class and at six o'clock in the morning as well."
He took a deep breath. "About that…" He sighed, looking around the crowded hall. This wasn't exactly how he envisioned his dramatic exit from the Quidditch team (he fancied a tearful goodbye with chocolates and roses), but it was now or never. He looked at James in the eye. "I'm quitting the team."
James stared at him for a few seconds before his face broke into a smile. "Nice one, mate!" he said, clapping him on the back. When Frank only gazed at him blankly, his smile began to falter, his hazel eyes dimming. "You aren't kidding, are you?" he guessed.
"I'm deadly serious."
"You can't quit!" protested James. "It's three days before the big game against Slytherin, and we can't possibly beat them without our best Keeper." He gave Frank a hopeful smile, nudging him in the ribs.
Frank was unmoved. "Well, that's too bad for you," he said. "I guess you'll have to find somebody else to play Keeper, then."
As he exited the Great Hall, he was faintly aware of James continued pleas for him to frank stay. Their little argument had aroused the attention of a good portion of the students, but Frank forced himself to avoid their stares and whispers, keeping his head down the whole way. He felt as if a great weight - the weight of his father's expectations - had been lifted off his chest, and he was now free to pursue whatever path he wanted.
Just as he ducked through the great double doors, he cast a fleeting glance at the Great Hall behind him. It was then that he saw Alice sitting on the far end of the Gryffindor table, her chestnut hair tossed haphazardly over her shoulder and her lips stretched into a wide smile as she cheered for him. They locked eyes for a single moment, his dark brown eyes boring into her grey ones, before the doors swung shut and he was left staring at mahogany, a goofy smile occupying his face.
(It wasn't just because of Quidditch.)
A/N: I did it, guys! I did it! *throws confetti in the air* I really tried to make this in-character...I really did. But there isn't much on Frank Longbottom, so I couldn't really go too in depth. I tried to make it so you could see a bit of Neville in both Frank and Alice. :) Please review!
CONTESTS/CHALLENGES:
[Marauders Era Competition] Write about Frank Longbottom. Prompts: Game, Arched, Wrap, Golden, Spinning.
[Lolita Challenge] Fairy Wish - Write about breaking away.
[Greek Mythology Mega Prompt Challenge] Daedalus - Write about giving good advice, but the recipient not listening. Alternatively, write about a game.
[*2015* New Years Millionaire Fanfiction Resolutions & Goals Competition] Marauders Era - earns $50