A.N/ I sadly don't own Alice, Frank or Neville Longbottom.
Sometimes a boy came to visit her. Well he was more of a man now, but she still remembered him as a boy.
Alice felt a pull towards the boy; a similar pull to the one which she felt for the man. The man and the boy looked similar, though Alice could rarely clear her head enough to see it. And if she rarely saw how similar the man and the boy looked then she certainly didn't realize that the boy and herself shared a few striking similarities.
And, if she couldn't make any of these connections in her confounded state then she most certainly didn't realize that this boy was her son.
But when he came to visit, things felt sharper. Things felt clearer.
She always felt as if her mind were clouded and she was left, lost and stranded and abandoned in a treacherous thunderstorm of screams and shouts and cries and pain and sadness and memories and hopes that will never be fulfilled.
Most of the time however, she was lost with Frank. Frank … Frank … Frank … that was the man's name, yes, his name was Frank. They often sat and clutched each other in the darkness and despair and the sounds that were their fear, that were their life, that were their reality, that were their imagination.
When the boy came, he came and took their hands and he held them in his own warm, firm grip, as he started working and building bonds and trying to wipe away the fog. The boy wiped his hands across the window that Alice was trying to gaze through, the window that was clouded with fog and early morning dew.
And for a moment, Alice would be able to take a look through the glass. Alice would be able to see the majestic mountains build from adventure, and the skyscrapers that advertised success, and the rivers that giggled and whispered rumours, even the trees and flowers that bloomed with love and happiness.
And for a moment, Alice would know happiness. And for a moment Alice would know life. And for a moment Alice would know love. And for a moment Alice would know Neville.
Then, as quickly as it had been wiped away, the fog clouded her little window, the fog started spreading and covering her vision and memories.
She never liked this, she hated this. She hated how now all she could hear was screaming. She hated how she could no longer distinguish her own screams from the ones that plagued her thoughts.
But when there was silence instead of screams, and when there was Neville; those were the moments she lived for.
Those were the moments that she put up with the screaming and the crying and the memories for. Those were the moments of before she forgot, of when he became Nevil- Nev N- the boy.
Alice, Alice liked the boy, the boy and the man.
Sometimes the boy would come and visit her …
Sometimes Alice screamed and clutched the man …
Sometimes Alice would remember and peer out her foggy window, looking over the land …
So this is what begins in a study period and is finished after midterms. Review, please!
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