CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Tonks hadn't anticipated her new partner would keep his word, for she had seen that strange look of melancholia in his eyes when she had requested just outside of the door to Alice and Frank Longbottom's room, that she be allowed to enter alone, and there was a look of longing etched on his face, though, he merely nodded and honored her wishes and stayed guard just outside of the door.
True to his word, Remus did not enter the room for Permanent Spell Damage with her, though he had promised he would be just outside if he needed her. She did not know exactly what to expect when she first laid eyes on Alice, but she had no idea that the extent of the damage would have been…like this.
The young Auror felt tears brimming in the corners of her eyes and she blinked and looked away for a moment to compose herself. The corridor's of St. Mungo's were stuffy, and the air in here had an undertone of weird Muggle cleaning solutions mixed with the benefits of magic, almost smelling like bleach.
It was an assault on her nostrils and on her throat. The walls were a horrible, blinding white, and were scrapped in places from the hundreds of trolleys that had bumped into them, most carrying medical supplies that the Healers in their lime green robes used, or in other cases, a witch similar to the one that walked the Hogwarts Express train baring sweets would occasionally shuffle slowly through the corridors, with the patients' meals, hot and fresh for those that still possessed the ability to eat on their own. It broke her heart, to see her this way. The floor was a horrible slate gray and the walls a nasty dove looking color.
Various memos folded into little paper airplanes flickered through the hallways, reminders to the Healers of each ward, notices, and slips had been enchanted to drift, almost lazily so, through the hallways until they found their intended recipient. They were memos to the Healers, appropriate dosages to give the patients, notifying them when their patients have visitors, that sort of thing.
They used to use owls, but the mess was unbelievable and wasn't up to their health codes, so they switched to these. Tonks let out a heavy sigh and turned her attention back to the listless shell of a woman lying in the bed, staring at the ceiling, though Tonks highly doubted Alice Longbottom could see a thing.
She wondered if perhaps when Lupin took her back to headquarters, my new home, she reminded herself bitterly, biting the inside wall of her cheek, if Mrs. Weasley would have a fresh cup of tea brewed for her and waiting when they got back. Tonks could not shake the feeling she was going to need one after.
Tonks felt her gaze drift upwards and above the ceiling was made from those polystyrene squares laid on a grid-like frame. The light was too bright for her eyes after the darkening gloom outside on this dull gray Saturday morning.
The young witch found it almost abrasive, enough to bring on another one of her wretched migraines that she had unfortunately inherited from Dad.
There were commercial posters on the wall, the pictures magically enchanted to move, the posters themselves colorful in their own way, to brighten the place up a bit as best as they could, Tonks guessed. Tasteful in the dull kind of way. St. Mungo's wasn't at all run and managed by risk-takers and Tonks guessed she should find some small measure of peace and comfort in that fact.
The ward for Permanent Spell Damage was so neat and spotless, that suddenly, Tonks began to feel self-conscious as she spotted her battered and bruised face's reflection in a hanging mirror on the wall opposite her and flinched.
"I need to—oh, excuse me! I was not informed nor was I told for my son and his wife to expect a visitor today, so this is...quite the surprise, dear." An aging woman's voice from behind her spoke up, startling Tonks in her chair that she had pulled up to sit next to Alice.
Tonks let out a muffled yelp of surprise, not having anticipated anyone would sneak up behind her and turned around to regard the new arrival with a slightly furtive, guilty look in her eyes and blinked up at the old witch before her.
A little winded, the much older witch had pressed a gloved hand over her ribcage, her red handbag swung over her arm. Tonks furrowed her brows. This must be Neville's grandmother, she surmised by the way she was looking at Alice.
She'd heard more than a few tales of the formidable old witch, but Tonks wasn't at all fooled. Not for a second. At her age, Augusta Longbottom should have had one foot in the grave. Her gait should have been wonky and tottering with arthritic joints and eyesight failing faster than Ron Weasley's school grades.
Tonks suppressed a snort and fought back the urge to laugh as she and this other witch continued staring at one another, each surprised by the other's presence by Alice and Frank's bedside.
Were it not for the lines in Augusta's face, she would think the old witch maybe sixty at most, given her sharp mind and easy motion, but they were so deep and saggy—like the skin no longer had a connection to her skull underneath.
In a photograph, you'd clock Augusta Longbottom as ninety, maybe even more. Tonks wondered if that's where she was. Not that she would ever dare ask Augusta this unless she wanted to be on the receiving end of a Tongue-Engorging Charm for her blatant rudeness. It was her litheness and articulate speech that got most people, an echo of youth in someone so old. Tonks felt her gray eyes widen in shock and awe at her appearance.
Augusta Longbottom stood quite tall and slim, her short grey hair neat and likely styled with old fashioned rollers, the kind Muggle women used to sleep in.
Her face was well made up with discreet make-up, except that her lips were cherry red. If she were any paler than this, her mouth would be garish, but against her slightly sun-kissed skin, it looked right, Tonks guessed. Her bright green dress and large green hat complete with a stuffed vulture on top of it and her bright red handbag definitely stood out in a crowd, drew attention to her.
Something that Tonks was desperately hoping to avoid during her visit.
Tonks blinked as she realized she'd been asked a question by the old witch, and she flushed, embarrassed at having been caught staring at the woman's unusual choice of clothing, her eyes drawn to the vulture hat. "I—I beg your pardon?" Tonks asked meekly, feeling the heat creep to her cheeks as the old woman scowled and plunked her garish red handbag at her feet at sat in the chair on the opposite side of the bed, next to Frank, whereas Tonks sat near Alice.
"I said," she began, huffing in frustration and stomping her foot, still heaving and gasping for breath as she clutched at her side, and Tonks severely hoped the old woman wasn't about to keel over and have a heart attack on her or anything, "that I don't recall ever meeting you or seeing you here before, dearie. Are you a friend of my son and his wife? How do you know them both?"
The piercing stare that Mrs. Augusta Longbottom was currently giving Tonks reminded the young Auror of that of a hawk's, or better yet, a vulture.
Just like the one on her hat. I bet if she were an Animagus, she'd turn into a vulture, Tonks thought momentarily, feeling it was rather inappropriate to think. Tonks bit the inside wall of her cheek as she struggled to formulate a response. What on earth could she say to Mrs. Longbottom?
That she had come here after almost being brutally raped and beaten by Barty Crouch Jr., that she wanted to see for herself the very face of the woman whom she had been told not just by Crouch, but by others in the Auror Office, that she bore a striking resemblance to whenever she opted to turn her pixie cut's color dark chocolate? That she was here to see the face of the one that her would-be-rapist was so obsessed with?
Oh, yes, that would go over swimmingly well with this woman, who Tonks could tell immediately, was not about to be fooled by mere half-truths.
When the young witch did not immediately respond, Augusta Longbottom rose her eyebrows at the pink-haired young witch and looked around the room. "What? Is there an echo in here?" she snapped hotly. "Am I talking to myself, or did I not just ask you a question? How do you know them?"
Despite her frail appearance, she knew what truly lay behind that facet of wrinkles. Stubborn and headstrong like that of a wild, savage boar, with a tongue so sharp, one could very nearly be sliced into two if the woman believed you to be worth her time at the very least, let alone bothered to utter a word to you at all.
"I…yes, I know them. Alice is a…." Tonks's voice cracked and trailed off as she looked back towards the unresponsive witch laying in the bed. "A friend."
To her relief, Mrs. Longbottom nodded, and Tonks breathed an audible sigh of relief as she felt her shoulders slump and stared around the room. Its walls were a simple cream color, not peeling or dirty, just…cream. There were minimal decorations on the walls, save for the enchanted posters and the limp curtain that could separate the Longbottoms' area from the chairs and coffee tables set out should the pair of once-respected, high-ranking Aurors ever have any visitors.
No one seemed to have brought any kind of flowers or cards, given everything was inspected upon your arrival in the main entrance visitor's lobby.
Tonks could tell by the way Mrs. Longbottom sniffed and kicked aside her red handbag just slightly out of the way with the edge of her brown boot, that she had more than likely put up quite the screeching fuss when the guard demanded her purse, and something in her intuition told her the guard had more than likely promptly returned it to the witch upon hearing her start to screech.
The room smelled horribly of bleach, and the linoleum tile beneath their feet was a horrible, blinding white color. At the far end of the ward were windows in brown metal frames, enchanted only to be opened by an authorized Healer, only able to be opened at the very top of with a wand. Tonks swallowed past the lump forming in her throat as she glanced around dejectedly at the open ward.
"I—I did not e—expect anyone else to be here today," Tonks murmured, a light pink blush speckling on her cheeks, and she rose from her chair to stand, thinking that if Mrs. Longbottom wished to visit her son and his wife, then she should be allowed to do so in peace, and she had half-risen from her seat when the formidable-looking witch shot out an arm and gingerly lowered her down.
"No, no, please, child," Mrs. Longbottom said kindly, something in her hardened exterior softening as she regarded the young Auror. "Please do not leave on my account. It has been so long since my son has had any visitors, dear."
"Is there any change?" Tonks asked, hearing the note of desperation that crept into her voice as her gaze drifted back towards Alice, who was staring up at the white ceiling above them and had yet to make eye contact with anyone at all.
"None, I am afraid what was done to them, is, as you know, permanent, or else they would not currently be residing in the ward for Permanent Spell Damage, though that does not stop myself or my grandson from holding out hope that perhaps someday, there might be a cure to reverse what's been done," sighed Mrs. Longbottom wearily, reaching a gnarled hand as she peeled off one of her gloves to take Frank's hand in her own and give it a reassuring but firm squeeze.
She puffed out her chest and regarded Tonks seated in the chair opposite her with a slightly scrutinizing gaze as her gaze briefly drifted up towards her pink pixie cut, though Tonks could have sworn a flicker of admiration crossed the old witch's dark brown eyes. "My grandson's parents were quite skilled Aurors, you know."
Tonks stuck out her bottom lip in a slight pout and glanced towards the door. She couldn't see Remus, though she could hear low murmurings as he talked to Molly Weasley, and she'd seen Mrs. Weasley poke her head in earlier.
Mrs. Longbottom, sensing Tonks's reluctance to leave, felt the corners of her red-painted lips turn upwards in a sardonic little half-smile. "Stay seated, dearie. It's quite a story, and you might as well get comfortable since you took the time to visit my son and his wife," Augusta Longbottom sighed as she pinched the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger, and Tonks caught the glint of a bright ruby red ring the old witch wore on her left finger.
Quite the spectacle. Tonks pondered this and bit the inside wall of her cheek as she regarded Mrs. Longbottom in silence, not know what to say to the old witch.
"Make us a cup of tea, won't you do? It's the least you could do for me. I am an old woman and I cannot continue to keep climbing all these blasted steps. Not good for my lumbago or arthritis in my legs at my age," Augusta said.
"Oh, Mrs. Longbottom, I—I am terribly sorry, madame, but I—I can't," Tonks murmured apologetically, gesturing towards her wand hand and lifting it slightly so the older witch could see the uncontrollable tremors, and given the other arm rested in a sling, it was up to Augusta to make the tea. "My…hands."
Though the old witch grumbled indignantly under her breath, Mrs. Longbottom mumbled a quick incantation and gave a sharp tapping of her wand, and a tea kettle appeared in mid-air, along with cups and saucers for both of them.
Augusta gave a mock little salute to the kettle when it had finished and raised the now-piping cup of hot herbal tea, chamomile, to her lips and drank.
It did not escape the young witch's attention that Mrs. Longbottom was carefully studying the young Auror over the rim of her slightly chipped flowered teacup, her sharp, piercing gaze that of a hawk's, drifting from Tonks to Alice.
"You really do look like her, you know. Except for the hair, my dear."
Tonks froze, her teacup almost halfway to her lips. Crouch said the same thing to me just before he tried to…no. Don't think of that now. Suddenly no longer thirsty, she grimaced and promptly set her mostly full teacup on its sauce and gingerly pushed it away. "I—so I've been told," she murmured lowly, ashamed.
The old woman let out a tired-sounding sigh as she noticed Tonks's gaze had drifted back towards Frank and Alice. Alice was mumbling something.
"They cannot understand you, dear," Augusta Longbottom spoke up softly, though Tonks recognized that hardened edge to the old witch's tone.
She was beginning to lose her patience, but still, Tonks continued murmured her silent prayer to the Light of Merlin for Him to ease their suffering.
Tonks could have sworn that as she clutched onto Alice's limp hand, that she felt one of the older woman's pale fingers give the slightest twitch in response.
She pursed her lips into a thin line, her pale and slightly gaunt face careworn and crestfallen as Tonks looked upon the face of the one that she looked so much alike, Barty Crouch Jr.'s past obsession, and she was now his current.
Alice Longbottom lay back in her bed, her open eyes not focused but moved randomly. Her dark hair, which Tonks knew from old photographs that had been brought in and randomly scattered throughout the room to make the place more cheerful, had once been cut into a stylish dark brown pixie cut, similar to the way Tonks wore hers whenever she was confined to desk work at the Auror Office, had unfortunately been butchered into a buzz cut after Alice had one day gotten upset over her son and mother-in-law leaving, at least according to Mrs. Longbottom as she noticed Tonks staring at it, and, unable to articulate her anger in words, had banged her head against the wall so hard, Mrs. Longbottom could have sworn she'd heard a horrible crack.
Needless to say, the lead Healer assigned to care for the Longbottoms had been forced to cut the woman's hair to make sure there was no hidden contusion or anything invisible underneath Alice's hair that could be causing her trauma. That had been a month ago, and it was slowly but surely beginning to grow back, almost a kind of peach fuzz now graced Alice's head, and flecks of her original brown color started to show.
Even in the dark, you could see her, like some kind of shining beacon of light. The white creamy, yet the slightly ashen tone of Alice Longbottom's skin reminded the Auror of whipped milk. She couldn't help but wonder sometimes if she reached out her hand to touch the former Auror, would she graze only the air.
As if she and her husband Frank, were nothing but ghosts. Waves of heat seemed to course through Alice's bloodstream, a cold sweat glistened on her gaunt features, her cheekbones sunken in and hollow. She'd lost weight since Augusta and Neville's last visit, and it showed in her form.
Her dark brown eyes sunken in and her skin sallow and clammy, it looked as though everything ached, everything sagged, and Alice couldn't even move. The glass of water Mrs. Longbottom had conjured with a rather lazy flick of her wand stared at Frank and Alice from the bedside table, prompting her to take a sip. She did so, rather clumsily and splashed water onto the cold linoleum tile, which earned a guttural sounding groan from her husband, who was displeased.
Though whether it was because she'd spilled water on the floor or if it were because Frank could sense his wife's discomfort and couldn't properly vocalize it and was getting frustrated, Tonks couldn't ascertain which it was.
Probably both if I had to guess, she thought tiredly and sighed. Tonks rose from her chair which had been situated across from the bed and quickly excused herself to see what she could do for Alice.
Mrs. Longbottom watched the pink-haired witch work in silence, and though the poor dear was incapable of using magic due to the scope of her injuries, that did not stop Tonks from clutching onto Alice's hand tightly, as though afraid to let go, as if she did, then Alice would vanish right before her eyes.
It was such a simple gesture, and yet, it touched Mrs. Longbottom greatly.
"It's really quite a tragedy, what happened to my son and his wife, you know," began Augusta, sounding thoroughly exhausted and on the brink of something even Tonks wasn't sure she wanted the answer to. "As I'm sure you know by now, my son and his wife were tortured into insanity by Voldemort's followers." The old witch was amazed when the much younger witch did not flinch at the use of the Dark Lord's full name.
"Fear of a name only increases the fear of the thing itself. It's just a name, Mrs. Longbottom. It does not frighten me," Tonks mumbled under her breath. "We can say his name." Perhaps realizing her voice sounded colder than she initially meant it to, Tonks flinched under the typical stern gaze of Frank's mum and immediately took another biscuit, stammering to correct herself.
The last thing she wanted was a fight to erupt here during another visit and upset Remus even further, who was seemingly still on edge from the mess with Umbridge earlier, and she did not want to tax the poor man's stress levels even more on her account.
Tonks leaned forward in her seat, curiosity growing, despite herself. "What happened to them?" she breathed; her gray eyes curious.
August Longbottom chuckled, setting her teacup down on its saucer and folded her arms across her lap, crossing her legs and leaning back in her chair. "I hope you brought a quill and parchment," Augusta chuckled. "Therein lies a tale, and it's a bit of a lengthy one. Are you sure you have got the time, dear?"
Tonks nodded eagerly, anxious to hear more. "I do," she whispered. Tonks shuddered involuntarily as she felt the candles in the hospital room flickering, briefly showing Augusta Longbottom in the dim light.
For a moment, the Auror thought she had done that as she glanced down and realized her wand hand was gripped painfully tight, though she realized Augusta was doing it. She could not see the laughter in her brown eyes or a smile twitching at her thin lips. Instead, Augusta Longbottom appeared skeletal, deranged. Her sockets lay as inky pools, the weak yellow glow illuminating enough to make her look even more spooky than darkness could ever be.
Tonks frowned, knowing this was the woman's idea of a good story, of her idea of fun, in her own twisted way, and perhaps, reliving Alice's life would be.
The story of Frank and Alice Longbottom was legendary, after all.
Though, by the time she had finished, tears welled in the corners of her eyes that she could not contain, and Tonks's silent weeping was worse than a tantrum or a screaming match. The painful suffering Alice and Frank had endured at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange and Barty Crouch only made her hate Crouch even more, and a powerful hot, fiery anger ignited in her veins.
Tonks's eyes welled up with a sadness that Mrs. Longbottom believed that her young years should not possess. They showed this young woman's soul, aged by a hard life as an Auror, though for one so young to qualify, she must be an extraordinarily gifted witch, and the poor dear really did look like her Alice.
The silence of Tonks's crying was eerie, like…she'd been forced to learn how to do this, and Mrs. Longbottom wondered if it stemmed perhaps from an abusive background or a hard life of sorts, though it was not her place to ask.
What would it take to mend a soul as damaged as that and who would even want to try?
But little did Mrs. Longbottom know that person for Nymphadora Tonks was standing guard just outside of the ward for Permanent Spell Damage.
Her crying was both ferocious and noisy. Tonks blinked briny tears from bloodshot eyes, her thick lashes stuck together in clumps as if she'd been swimming.
The tears made wet tracks down her ashen face and dripped from her chin. Her hands open and closed, rhythmically clenching as if there could be some violent solution to her pain if only, she could find out what that was.
Mrs. Longbottom politely excused herself, gathering her red handbag in hand, pulling her gloves on, murmuring a half-hearted thank you to Tonks for coming to visit her son and Alice Longbottom, and Tonks did not move from her spot in the chair, continuing to clutch onto Alice's hand, squeezing it.
"I—I'm sorry, this…This should not have happened to you. To either of you, Alice, Frank," she whispered hoarsely, coughing once to quell her tears, though it did little good. "Look at you. Both of you. What's he's done to you."
As she closed her eyes, she felt tears well in her eyes, burning and stinging her vision, and before she could get a grip on her emotions, her walls, the walls that held her up, made her strong, made her a true Auror and protector, they just…collapsed.
She was assigned to protect the rest of the wizarding world from the very scum that had done this to Frank and Alice Longbottom, but who would protect her from them? No one would save her life from something like this if it came down to it, and she would be on her own.
Moment by moment, her tears fell. She felt herself growing hollow as her life crumbled in her fingertips and she cried herself beyond the point of no return, completely unaware that Lupin was listening outside her door.