Disclaimer: With the exception of Alice Crowley, this isn't mine. It all belongs to JKR. I'm not making a knut.
So, here it is. The very first chapter of my very first fic. What happens when you throw a cynical witch and a snarky wizard into a cauldron, and give it a little stir? Answer: A very difficult relationship between two very difficult people in a very difficult time.
Many, many thanks to my wonderful beta, FawkesyLady. My writing would look like a 5 year old's ramblings without her. Ta, duck!
Anyway, let's get the boat on the road, shall we?
'By Boreas' bouncing bollocks, if me fags are the least bit soggy, I swear I'll pack up and move to Zerzura and won't look back!' This was an empty promise, as while the hidden desert city is dry, it is also hot and disturbingly sunny.
Alice Crowley cursed vehemently as rain started to patter on the plastic bags containing her corner-shop loot. She regretted not having worn her raincoat, so she quickened up her pace, hoping to avoid the downpour that would surely follow, complete with thunder and lightning. As much as she enjoyed watching the violent displays of an electric storm, getting caught in one was not her idea of fun.
It was uncommon for her to be out and about. The reclusive witch preferred to stock up on food every fortnight or so, avoiding social interaction in her day-to-day life, but her food supply was rapidly dwindling. She was more than a little pissed off when she woke up with a rumbling belly, only to find half a rotten tomato in the fridge and a slice of moldy bread in the pantry. She ran out of coffee and fags as well, which meant that she was hungry, angry and only half-awake as she walked down the street towards the local shop on that humid Summer morning. She's been working too much and completely forgot about nourishment.
'Not even broad daylight could make this place look any less miserable', she mused as she broke into a jog to escape the rain. Rounding the corner, she swung the plastic bags filled with bread, butter, coffee, tobacco, and a can of beans from either arm, considering her surroundings.
Spinner's End was certainly a miserable sight to behold. The most run-down part of the small town of Cokeworth on the outskirts of Manchester. The terraced houses were dilapidated and dirty, the roads were in varying states of disrepair, but at least the residents were mostly quiet and kept to themselves. Spinner's End was certainly better than her birthplace. Burslem.
If Spinner's End was miserable, then Burslem was absolutely grim. Alice believed it to be the most depressing, godforsaken place in all of Britain. It almost seemed as if the area was a Dementor itself, attracting the most unsavoury characters in all of Staffordshire and sucking all hope and happiness from its inhabitants. It was never difficult to spot one of the many drug dealers lurking around the numerous pubs and takeaways. Prostitutes accosted potential clients in alleyways and loitered on street corners. Demoralised youths from the council estates were always fighting, breaking windows and stealing whatever meagre possessions the local populace held. Spinner's End, while neglected and shabby, was a fancy middle-class area in comparison.
Alice did not like to think about her sorrowful childhood. Her parents, who had her at 16, were a pair of utter thugs.* Her father had never done a day's honest work in his life, preferring to live the life of petty crime and antisocial behaviour. He was in and out of prison on a regular basis.
Her mother, who, Alice suspected, had only fallen pregnant to get a council house, was a neglectful, irresponsible woman who would often choose to feed her alcohol addiction over feeding her only child.
When Professor Sprout arrived at their doorstep to explain to her parents that their daughter was a witch, Alice had found herself full of hope for the first time in her life. She had always known she was different, and was delighted to know she wasn't the only one who could make strange things happen, and to finally put her gloomy hometown behind her.
She arrived at Hogwarts malnourished, feral, and half-illiterate. Professor McGonagall had her hands full, having to teach the young witch how to read, write, wash and eat at the table. Alice possessed a keen intellect and an excellent memory, and caught up with her peers in no time at all. Still, she found it difficult to make friends and remained aloof with her peer group, choosing not to trust the children who approached her in case they were going to mock her shabby clothes and her rough, broad accent. She was very lonely until the Weasley twins, Fred and George, noticed her and took her under their wing. The Weasleys weren't wealthy either, but they were happy and friendly, and for the first time in her life, Alice felt like she belonged. She worshipped the twins ever since.
Overall, she was happy at Hogwarts. She excelled at Potions and Defence, with a natural grasp of both subjects. She consistently scored respectable marks across the board, with the exception of Herbology. Professor Sprout admitted that she had never before seen a student capable of killing magical cacti. It was due to the high quality of Alice's written work that she managed to only just pass, although Professor Sprout seriously considered permanently banning her from the Greenhouses.
Her sixth year, the penultimate year of her magical education, was turned upside down by the Toad, Dolores Umbridge. The memory of the obnoxious amphibian dressed in pink tweed made Alice shudder with disgust and rage. The most frustrating thing was the complete and utter passivity of the staff at Hogwarts. She remembered how nobody lifted a finger to help the students who had to put up with oppressive new rules and regulations, each more ridiculous than the last.
It was Harry Potter who seemed to have suffered the worst. The wizarding world's golden boy became the Ministry scapegoat after the disastrous finale to the Triwizard Tournament. Alice didn't know him very well, but she felt sorry for her Housemate. The Minister for Magic was in denial over Voldemort's return, hell-bent on brushing the bad news under the carpet. Fudge refused to acknowledge the Dark Wizard's return, choosing to undermine both the Boy Who Lived and Headmaster Albus Dumbledore at each and every opportunity in an attempt to calm the wizardfolk and bolster his position as Minister.
Alice would never forget the terrible parade of shocky students returning from Umbridge's office late at night, bearing the evidence of psychological torture carried out for the students' "Own Good." Even the youngest pupils were fodder for the Toad's odious agenda, subjecting them to unspeakable cruelties. She had often lurked in that hallway in hopes of better mapping out Umbridge's routine for use in future operations. At one point she broke her cover, unable to ignore a second year Ravenclaw boy who had staggered to his knees, face pinched in pain. It was there that she first saw the bleeding words carved deep into a student's forearm, and Alice understood that Dark magic was being used in sadistic punishments. The words etched by a Black Quill read: 'I am an ignoramus and should never speak unless called upon.' Dolores Umbridge had tossed down the gauntlet, daring the student body at large to defy her.
Failed by the Professors and the Ministry, the young witches and wizards have put up a considerable resistance movement, and despite the Toad's greatest efforts, and her Spanish fucking Inquisition (unexpectedly appointed), pupils of all ages managed to make her unwelcome tenure difficult and miserable. Those who were caught quickly learned to bear their wounds as badges of honour. They were defenceless and unprepared, but they were fighting. Whether by causing disruption or joining the Dumbledore's Army, the students became a force to be reckoned with.
She had spent many happy hours in the Room of Requirement with Fred and George, inventing new spells and potions designed to make Umbridge's life as unbearable as possible. She developed new products for the growing Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes range to allow students to fake illness and miss the Toad's classes. Her lips curled up in a self-satisfied smirk as she remembered one of her greatest inventions, the flatulence-inducing hex. One discreet, non-verbal flick of her wand, made from the back of the classroom, caused the Toad to fart loudly to the tune of 'God Save the Queen' for eight hours, effectively preventing her from going about her business and overseeing detentions. Yes, that was definitely one of Alice's finer moments.
The tower of propaganda built by Fudge's government collapsed after what became known as the Battle of the Department of Mysteries. The man himself had stepped down as Minister, finally forced to acknowledge the truth he had so carefully ignored: Lord Voldemort was resurrected and the wizarding world was once again facing another war. The media flipped from supporting the administration's lies over to sensationalising stories that proved the re-emergence of the Death Eaters as a force to be feared. Dolores Umbridge was recalled from her position as Inquisitor and teacher of Defence Against the Dark Arts, leaving ugly scars and festering ignorance in her wake.
The sky above faded to grey as the light drizzle turned into a heavy downpour and a roar of thunder vibrated the pavement beneath her sodden sandals. It evoked the memory of the din from magical pyrotechnics which shook the school in celebration when the Weasley twins decided that they had outgrown full-time education. She hadn't seen Fred and George since their spectacular escape last Spring. The three of them had the show planned down to the last detail, and the twins executed it perfectly. She chuckled inwardly, remembering the terrified screams of Umbridge, and the face of Filch, contorted in impotent rage as he chased the raging fireworks with his smouldering mop.
This year, she would be alone. The twins were her only real friends, and save for a few acquaintances in her own year and the year below, she didn't have that many connections. Fred and George were the highlight of her life. They secretly called themselves the Terrible Triplets, and their creativity was a constant threat to the school and its residents' peace.
The three teenagers were geniuses at avoiding detection, as much energy being poured into the execution as it was into the actual prank. It was invigorating to evade even the most determined of disciplinarians, Professor Snape and Mr Filch. And Peeves, oh, sweet Peeves, who, after years of trying to out-do them, wisely decided to join them! Things simply wouldn't be the same now that her best mates were out of school and building up a thriving business.
Alice came to a standstill outside the faded, rickety gate that led into her backyard. She arrived home drenched, famished and in desperate need for a cigarette, but these small discomforts were forgotten when a strong hand unexpectedly gripped her upper arm and violently yanked her around, sending her four cans of beans clattering to the pavement.
Her instincts kicked in, and she raised her knee to feint at her attacker's groin whilst planning to bring a concentrated force down on his ankle, intending to break it. Instead, she froze and cursed loudly as her eyes focused on the face of her assailant. The oily black hair, the hooked nose and the penetrating, inky eyes could only belong to one person. Professor Snape was a terrifying sight as he brandished the tip of his ebony wand between her breasts and was pushing it painfully against her sternum. A quick glance revealed that the Potions Master was not merely inconvenienced or irritated. He was absolutely livid.
'Well, well… and what do we have here? A little Gryffindor girl, sticking her nose where it doesn't belong... now now, don't even try to fight me, for you will regret it.'
Alice swallowed thickly, backing up and slamming into the fence, confusion and fear etched clearly across her face. Why was he here? Why was he attacking her?
'Um… Professor Snape… I don't unders…' she began, but was swiftly cut off by the tip of his wand being pressed even harder against her chest.
'Silence! I will not tolerate being spied upon! What do you think you are doing here?!' he spat. His black eyes were glittering with unsuppressed rage.
Growing more bewildered by the second, Alice replied in a shaky voice, 'What do you mean, sir?'
Snape's voice lowered to a menacing growl, 'do not play games with me, you insolent child! What. Are. You. Doing. Here?'
By this point, the girl had had enough. She had no idea why the dreaded Professor was accosting her in this way. She felt weak and lightheaded from the lack of food, and she was desperate to get inside to escape the pouring rain. As a rush of adrenaline kicked into her system, she raised her chin defiantly and looked her teacher in the eye. The bubble of frustration burst out in an indignant cry. 'I fuckin' live 'ere! Now get the fuck off of me!'**
* This description does NOT represent the working classes of the British society. Whilst most poor families are loving and caring, there is a special 'underclass', also known as 'chavs' who are less than nice and are a general menace to society. And no, not every person living in a council house is a chav. If you're a Brit living in one of those 'rough' areas, you'll probably know exactly what type of people I'm talking about.
** The spelling is intentional. Many Northern accents drop the Ts and the Hs and may be considered less elegant than the Southern drawl by some. I, on the other hand, absolutely love those accents. Alice's accent is a mix of Manc and Stoke, and occasionally, it will show.