A/N: Written for the magiccarrousel contest over on LJ. This is my attempt to kickstart the Frank/Alice pairing community as there is a surprising lack of interest in the pairing. Enjoy. Updates will be quick.

Disclaimer: Not mine, HP is property of JKR. Cheers.

HPHPHP

(Prompt # 9- People from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were soon coming over to look.)

"Wanker!" screams Black suddenly. He stands up, face red with anger, and drops a bowl of porridge on Potter's head.

Potter sits there, looking non-plussed for a moment, then stands up as well. He clenches his fists and roars incoherently, taking a swing at Black. Black ducks the punch and lets out a war whoop, tackling Potter.

The two crash to the floor, Potter howling indignantly, and roll around on the floor, screaming expletives. All over the Gryffindor table people are craning their heads to peer at the fight. Not Frank though, he just groans and runs his hand through his hair. Gits, he thinks.

Half the time Potter and Black fight like this, it's just for attention. Judging by Lupin, who looks annoyed rather than concerned, the two are just being idiots trying to get a rise out of McGonagall. Though, she too seems to have become used to the duo's habits, and is enjoying a piece of toast and a conversation with Professor Sinistra, jovially pretending not to notice as two of her students Muggle fight on the floor of the Great Hall to the cheers and jeers of other students..

People from the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables are soon coming over to look, and among them Frank sees her. Sweet, round face, strawberry blonde hair, large blue eyes, and curvy.

Men would die for those curves.

He is, quite embarrassingly, instantly smitten and is shocked to find himself half rising out of his seat to get a better look at her.

But she apparently doesn't see him and marches right past, up to where Potter and Black, idiot fourth years if he ever saw them, are engaged in their brawl, and bawls, "Sirius Black, James Potter- stop that this instant! You're interrupting my breakfast." Her hands are on her hips, and she is the very picture of furious indignation. Brow furrowed and face pink with irritation, her chin jutting out proudly.

The two boys instantly break apart and spring to their feet. Potter, the wanker, smiles like a monkey and wraps an arm around Black's shoulders.

"Right ma'am," he smirks, "Sorry ma'am."

Black just grins jauntily and salutes the girl, who glares at the two of them and sniffs, "Honestly, the two of you are such idiots," before whirling away back to her table. Mission accomplished.

Black pulls a face after her and Frank quells the sudden urge to deck the boy.

Thou shalt not attack lower classmen, admonishes Rules for the Proper Etiquette of Prefects. All the same, his arm twitches a bit.

Remus Lupin, a fourth year like Black and Potter but less of an idiot, moves forward to whisper furiously at his two friends and shoots the girl a grateful look over his shoulder.

"Honestly, could the two of you be anymore immature?" sneers a redheaded girl Frank vaguely knows as Evans. She flips her admittedly rather impressive mane of hair and stalks off after the girl, muttering, "Good on you Alice."

'Alice,' thinks Frank, and he is impressed. Even though Black's barely fifteen and Potter not even that, not many people are willing to stand up to the duo when they're of a mind to be troublesome. Frank, Gryffindor prefect and all, had been quite content to let the two midgets duke it out. But this girl, this Hufflepuff he realizes, has shown everyone up- fear of pranks be damned.

Franks suddenly realizes that he must learn two very important things very soon. One- why is this Alice a Hufflepuff and not a Gryffindor like she should be, and two- will she accompany him to Hogsmeade the following weekend? The second question, he decides, is by far the more important of the two.

He waits for her after breakfast is finished, waves his friends on and settles near a tapestry to watch the people emerging from the Great Hall. Caradoc, he thinks suspects something, as the blonde boy ushers Kingsley and Benji along quickly, but not before shooting Frank a knowing leer.

Git, Frank decides with a snort, and then his thoughts stop immediately as she comes out with a gaggle of girls. He takes a deep breath and works up his nerve to approach.

C'mon man, you're a Gryffindor! Screams his mental Quidditch captain. It is said with the exact same tone and inflection as Kingley had used when Frank ducked a bludger rather than use himself as a human shield for Potter.

"Alice!" he calls loudly, taking a few steps towards her, praying he's got her name right.

He has, because she turns in the direction of her voice and peers around confusedly.

"Alice," he calls again, and she sees him. Her face goes from puzzled to, impossibly, pleased, and Frank cheers, Aha! She knows who I am!

He strides towards her, wearing his largest, most charming smile. Her friends, he notes, haven't left, and are hanging about looking giggly and annoyingly girlish. But they have managed to push Alice to the front of the group, and that's really all that matters.

Let the airheads chortle.

"Alice," he says for a third time, and takes her hand, bowing deeply over it.

"H-hullo," she stutters nervously, going quite, delightfully pink.

Still bent low over her hand, he grins up at her, and wiggles his ears- a talent learned from many long hours practice in front of the mirror.

"I," he begins gravely, "am Frank Longbottom."

The juxtaposition of his ear wiggling and somber introduction are enough to startle a laugh from the girl, and Frank's insides glow with warmth and pride.

"I know who are," she stammers between chuckles. "You're the Gryffindor prefect."

He bows again, but this time more briefly. He feels absurdly joyful at the "the" as if he was important, not just one out of six other Gryffindor prefects.

"That would be me," he agrees amiably, and then realizes that he has little idea what to say next and even less on how to gracefully lead into the Hogsmeade trip.

Smooth move that, Frank.

She is smiling up at him questioningly and her friends seem restless behind her. Frank realizes he will have to think of something fast or lose her interest. He remember his perplexity from before and grins, "Speaking of Gryffindor, Alice, I have to know why you're not in it. That was a brave thing you did, breaking up Black and Potter like that. They're trick-some blighters, and likely to hex you for it later."

She-Alice- titters nervously and Frank finds it endearing rather than annoying. I've known her all of a minute and already I'm a sop, he thinks in awe, This doesn't bode well.

"Oh well," she says, looking deeply pleased and embarrassed, "It's just Black and Potter. They're mostly harmless, and we get along well enough anyway. And, well, Gryffindor," she laughs, a high pitched stammering sort and twists her hands in the hem of her robes, "It always made more sense to me that you can't help being born brave but you have to work at being loyal."

Frank stares at her, stunned. He isn't sure if it's because of her words, because, while interesting, they weren't really that eloquent, or if it's because of the way her mouth moved while saying them.

"Fascinating," he says hastily, once he realizes she's finished speaking and is peering at him with an anxious kind of expectance. He shifts from foot to foot and clears his throat, thinking desperately of a new question- anything to keep this pretty, brave Hufflepuff talking to him.

"Why aren't you a prefect?" he blurts out, and mentally slaps himself.

Alice blinks, looking taken aback and lets out another one of her nervous titters, "Well I'm too young aren't I?"

"Too…er…what?" Frank stares, boggled, and a deep crimson flush spreads to the roots of Alice's hair. He could've sworn she was at least sixteen…

"I'm only a fourth year," explains Alice softly.

And all thoughts of asking her out to Hogsmeade vanish. It's not that Frank is an ageist or anything, just that, well, he's nearly 18, and a seventh year. Such relationships were usually frowned upon by the school administrators. Frank gets a sudden, cold-sweat inducing vision of being dragged before the school ministers and being forced to explain why he was doing illegal things to a fourteen year old in the broom closet.

Oh Merlin.

"Fourth year, really?" he croaks, feeling immensely stupid. "I could've sworn you were err, older," he trails off, blinking owlishly at her.

Alice shakes her head slowly, looking, of all things, close to tears. And there is a long, excruciating moment of silence but for the giggling of Alice's friends.

Stupid things have probably been listening to the entire conversation, thinks Frank with savage vindictiveness towards them for witnessing his embarrassment.

Fourth year, really. Which means, and he does some quick mental math, he'd have to wait four years for her to graduate and a relationship to be anywhere near acceptable.

Damn.

"Bubble gum?" she offers timidly, finally, the silence having stretched to the point that it was about to explode. She extends a piece of Drooble's that she'd just extracted from a pocket in her robes.

He stares at the outstretched piece of candy, feeling extremely awkward. "Erm…Thanks," he mutters and snatches the packet. She grins broadly at him and pulls out a piece for herself.
"Twas nice talking to you Frank," she says, and makes as if to walk off.

"Wait!" Frank cries just as she is leaving. He is determined not to let this amazing girl to slip through his fingers, and, by Jove, if he has to wait four years, he'll wait four years.

Alice looks over her shoulder to give him a curious stare. "Walk you to class?" he asks weakly, strength fleeing his body beneath her gaze.

"Oh," she blushes, "That would be lovely. I mean, if it's not too out the way for you."

He strides forward, taking her books from out of her arms. "Nothing," he assures her gallantly, "would ever be too out of the way for you Alice."

She blushes again, offering a tentative smile, and it's like Frank's seeing the sunrise for the very first time.

Four more years. Right. He can do this.

Alice smiles slyly up at him, and all his blood rushes straight to his ears, turning them bright red.

He isn't quite sure he's going to make it.