(Note from the author: These are not my characters, my world, or my
situations. They all belong to J. K. Rowling, and are protected by
copyrights.)
The trials continued on regularly the next week. They were the gossip of the country. All of the Death Eaters and supporters were brought forth, one by one (sometimes in groups) to sit before Mr. Crouch and his committee. The Order Members were represented at each and every one of them.
Some of them were memorable, like the Quidditch Player who had been found guilty. Then there were the Bulgarian Trials. And then the less important ones, as in the Malfoy's case and the Nott's case. They were let off within moments of being seated before the Wizengamot. But many went without trial. Many who had already been found guilty in the minds and hearts of society were cast out as dead souls. No one ever heard a word from them again. Their words were breathed with the same fear that once carressed the syllables of "Voldemort." And Remus never saw Sirius Black cross the aisle to be seated in front of Mr. Crouch. He never laid eyes on that man again. Nor did he want to. Remus had been asked to attend a few trials. This day, an unknown Death Eater that went by some name he hadn't recognized was seated for judgement. Frank and Moody sat close together, in the same vicinity as the others. They did not speak. Frank had given back the report of that day in Azkaban. He had no more thoughts of innocence towards Black. Just hate. Complete hate.
Remus had heard the story from three sources. Frank had come, somewhat misheveled by his findings, the night that he visited Remus's old school friend. He had relayed the story to Remus, even if Remus really hadn't wanted to hear it. And then he had heard another version from Hagrid. And yet another version from Dumbledore. But all of the versions ended the same: Sirius Black had killed James Potter.
That's all he needed to know.
That's all he cared to know.
Frank thought all of this over in his head with the same anger as Remus as they watched the Wizengamot decide on the final verdict.
"Get your mind where it belongs, boy," Moody growled, and Frank sighed. Moody hadn't spoken of Black since the Azkaban visit. And he doubted if he ever would again.
He looked past Moody to the young Lupin boy. The stature of this strong individual had changed so much. He saw the little shaking child the boy once was.
Frank remembered the first time Dumbledore had pointed Lupin out to him. Remus had only been a second year, and quite unaware that he was already being watched for potential Order material. Frank had been with Dumbledore during a quick stroll through the grounds, and he had seen at least thirty children that the Headmaster was watching. Finally, they came upon a little mousy blonde skeleton of a human being. He was much smaller than the others. Much weaker. He was different, he had known.
"Why him?" Frank asked Dumbledore. All of the other children had been limber and able and intelligent. But this boy was so different from that. He was weak.
"He possesses a heart of courage, Longbottom," Dumbledore explained, "He has seen more terror than either you or I ever will. He has fought with himself, the greatest enemy of them all. And he has conquered and lived. That is why."
Frank had been silent as he watched the boy read a Defense Against the Dark Arts book by the lake, and Dumbledore had patted him on the back.
"One who can conquer themselves can conquer anything, Longbottom," he said, "And therefore, Remus will make a very well rounded canidate for the Order."
That shaking boy had grown into a strong spirited soldier. And Frank had seen Remus in action. He had fought alongside all five of those children. And each one of them had been stronger than even he in a battle. But now he had seen the downfall of all of them. Their friendship and love had binded them together. It was the sinew that held the five hearts forever close to the others. But now they were all dead. Consumed by greed, hate, fear, and fate ... That sinew was gone. The binds had snapped. And now Frank looked upon a boy who didn't know where to turn to.
From behind Remus's head, he could see the quick shadows of a group of black clothed teenagers. They stared at him for a moment, and then continued watching the trial. They looked oddly familiar.
"Frank," Moody barked, and Frank jumped.
"Alastor, I ..."
"Stop staring at Lupin," Moody commanded, "You're making him even more nervous than he needs to be."
Frank sighed, and looked back at the authoritative figure of Mr. Crouch.
"You'd do good to get some sense in your head," Moody snorted, "You're still just a stupid boy."
Alice had stayed up with Neville every night of the trials. She hadn't been to a single one in the past week, and was tired of her motherly duties. Neville was growing to be a very large and happy tot, now past his first year of life. He was walking by himself, and very content with the world around him. Somewhat clingy to his mother, but he was in love with life and life was in love with him. The happiness on his face reminded Alice of what she had been fighting for. What her past and gone days as an Auror had taught her of life and death. One person dies so another may live. That was the way of the world.
Lily had died for Harry.
She blinked, and shook her head as she did the laundry. Neville was "helping" her. They were both seated in the master bedroom, sorting the socks from the knickers and the knickers from the shirts. It was mechanical work for the mother. Her mind wandered when she did the housework. And she found it very dangerous to wander nowadays. Usually her mind found a nook or cranny that stored Lily's or James' face. And then she would pause, blink, and shake her head to try to rid herself of those thoughts.
The last time she had seen Lily had been late in the spring. Her and Frank had left a long time before they had to go into hiding. The Potters were thriving and alive. Lily was a little scarred from her marriage, but all marriages had bumps and holes in them. Alice and Frank had had a few rough roads themselves. But overall, they had been quite happy. All of them had been so thriving. And now they were dead. Just a name on the wall behind the Auror offices at the Ministry.
"Ma!" Neville shouted, and "Ma" looked to her baby angel to see what he wanted her to see. She saw her boy with two socks on his hands, bouncing up and down where he sat. She laughed, and took the socks from him. Neville laughed, and Alice looked at the socks.
"You know," she said, "We could make puppets out of these and magic them to dance."
Neville laughed.
It sounded like Harry's laughter.
She shook her head again, and dug her hand into her night robe pocket. There was some bubble gum pieces stored away. Ever since she had gone into hiding, she had acquired a nasty habit of eating when she became nervous. After realizing that this probably wasn't very good for her figure or her health, she decided to chew something of low fat and no substance: bubble gum. She unwrapped a piece, and popped it in her mouth.
Neville grabbed for the paper that was still in her hand, and she let him have the wrapping. He sat, mystified at the bubble gum wrap for a moment. It was a daily ritual for them. An unspoken token between mother and son. Alice smiled sadly as she watched her son discover the smallest thing in the world: a paper.
Then she went back to sorting.
"Frank, are you going to come to bed anytime tonight?" she asked of her husband who was standing in Neville's nursery across the hall.
There was no answer.
"Frank, dear, are you alive in there?"
She had slipped up. She caught herself, but it was too late. The remark stung both of them, and she shook her head again. Of course he was alive. They both were alive.
"I was thinking," Frank said, coming out of the nursery and appearing in the bedroom's doorway, "Of the case."
"What case?" Alice asked, finishing the last of the laundry and taking Neville in her arms. He squealed with delight.
"The Black case," Frank said, and Alice froze. Sirius Black. Why did Frank have to always bring him up?
"What about it?" Alice asked, and Frank, eyes still focused on the rug, stroked his chin in deep thought.
"Peter was running after Sirius, right?" he said aloud. Alice nodded.
"That seems to be the story."
"Well then," Frank said, walking into the room and sitting down next to his wife and son, "Why was he in a corner?"
"What?" Alice asked, not following.
"Peter. The hole. His finger. It was backed into a corner. Sirius Black was found at the scene, facing the hole, and facing the corner. But he wasn't in the corner," Frank shifted to face his wife, and he demonstrated the movement with his hands, "Now if you were chasing after someone, and was on the offense of wanting to kill them ... as Peter was ... then how would you get backed into a corner, with the defense trapping you?"
"Sirius was always stronger than Peter," Alice said, placing the laundry basket on the floor.
"No, it still doesn't make sense," Frank said, "Sirius is walking down the street, Peter spots him. Peter runs after him. Peter should have cornered him, and then the street should have been blown to bits. Not the alleyway. Not the sewers. There is no possible way that Sirius could have trapped Peter in that space unless ..."
There was a pause as a look of realization came over Frank's face. Alice waited for more to come. When none did, she prodded her husband back into reality.
"Unless what?" she asked.
Frank's hands dropped, and he smiled defiantly, "Unless it was he who was chasing Peter. Unless ... unless Peter ... wasn't on the offense. Unless Peter was the one being pursued."
"Well, why would Sirius have pursued Peter? That makes no sense!"
"Well, why would Peter have pursued Sirius?" Frank said, jumping to his feet, "For revenge. Now does Peter seem like the revenge type, Alice?"
"Not that I have ..."
"No, he isn't," Frank said, "He's more of the cuttail and run type. But Sirius. Oh, Sirius lives for vengeance. Sirius would have dedicated his life to James' murderer. Alice, it all fits in! It all makes sense! Sirius Black is innocent, Alice! I knew it!"
"Frank, he gave a testimony himself," Alice sighed, standing up and walking out of the room to the nursery, "He said himself that he killed them."
"But everything else pieces together!" Frank protested, "Alice, you know those gut feelings I get?"
"Yes, Frank, dear."
"Well, this is one of them. I feel like ... well, Alice, I had a dream the other night. And James was here. And he was screaming Peter's name. He was screaming his name."
"It's your imagination."
"No," Frank said, "It was real. I can't explain it, but ... I have to get a hold of Dumbledore."
"You will do no such thing," Alice said, coming out of the nursery, "That poor man has already too much on his mind without a recollection of all your theories and dreams weighing in on him. Just leave him alone. The murderer has been caught. They're dead. There's nothing more we can do."
"Yes, but ..."
"No buts, Frank," Alice sighed, and shoved him back into the bedroom, "Let their souls rest in peace. Let Black get what he deserves. You have a life. You have a family. Now enjoy your life and stop worrying about theirs."
Frank sighed, and Alice brushed past him to the bed. He rubbed the back of his neck, and then looked nervously at the door, "I'll ... I'll be back in a bit. I'm just going to go down to the kitchen."
"What for?"
"To think! Is that all right? Just to think!"
He made his way down the stairs, and his bare feet touched the linoleum of the kitchen. He sighed, and rubbed his eyes. James was dead.
He never thought it would have hurt him this deep. He couldn't even look at Alice and Neville without seeing Lily and Harry. It could have easily been Neville. If Voldemort had just made one different decision, started walking in a different direction ... it could have been Neville.
He sat down at the table and buried his head in his hands. What was he going to do. What was he going to tell Neville when he got older and asked why Harry's parents were dead?
There was a quiet sound from outside. Probably the neighbor's Kneazle back for more knomes in their yard. Frank wanted to kill that stupid animal ...
"FOR THE DARK LORD!"
A fireball exploded through the kitchen window, and a few inches from his face. He jumped up, and grabbed his wand out of his pocket. His eyes scanned where the fireball had come from, and he peered into the bushes.
Then he saw them.
The children.
The four teenagers from the Wizengamot Trials.
The first was very profound in stature. He was dark haired, with white skin. Just like the boy who stood next to him. He had seen these children before. In a field. With a bride.
The bride, a gothic face bordered by wild hair and accented with even wilder eyes stood by her groom. And behind them, shivering like a lost rat was a boy he had only met once.
Bartemus Crouch, Jr.
The son of Crouch.
He had gone to the child's thirteenth birthday celebration years before, with a few of the other Order Members. The last time he had seen this prodigal son he had been dressed in a dress robe and gel tamed his now wild hair.
The four of them stood, glaring at Frank. And for the first time, Frank felt fear.
"ALICE!"
Alice awoke from her sleep and jolted out of bed. She reached for her wand on the nightstand, and ran to the door. It was Frank's voice. It was Frank screaming her name. Just like in her nightmares.
"TELL US WHERE THE DARK LORD IS!" a young girl's voice sounded from the kitchen. Two males could be heard laughing.
Alice froze, and cracked the door open enough to look outside and down the stairs. She couldn't stop herself from screaming silently. Her eyes grew wide as she stared at her husband, on the ground, writhing in pain. The veins in his face were popping from underneath the skin, and his eyes were flying out of the sockets. His teeth were clenched, and his hands were balled into fists. His skin was a complete shade of red.
"AAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLIIIIIICCCCEEEEE!" he howled.
"Get the wife," a boy told a smaller boy, "Bring her down here."
"WHAT DID THE POTTER BOY DO TO THE DARK LORD!" the girl demanded, "WHAT DID THE PROPHECY READ?"
"ALICE!" Frank screamed again.
Alice heard the footsteps of the second boy creeping up the stairs. There was nothing she could do but run. She had to save Neville. She had to get to her little boy.
She stepped out in the hallway, and pointed her wand at the child.
"Avada ..."
"CRUCIO!" The girl said from the bottom of the steps, and she felt the spell hit her in her chest, working its way through her body and into her brain. She fell to the ground, twisting and shrieking in pain.
"ALICE!" Frank shouted, not seeing Alice. Not realizing Alice was there.
"Now your wife will die as well, because of your stupidity," the first boy said, "Do you really want to see her in pain, Frank? Do you really want to see your son die?"
What was it that Remus Lupin always muttered before going into battle? What was it that he always whispered to himself? What were those words! If only Frank could think of them now! If only he could savor them and hold onto them.
"Je ne ... Je ne mourrai ..." he gasped for air, and the girl hit him again with another dose of the curse. He fell in agony again, and caught a glimpse of his wife. His wife was falling down the stairs, next to him. To fall right next to him. He was going to die beside her.
"Je ne mourrai pas," he whispered, this little bit of comfort given to him gave him strength.
"CRUCIO!" the girl said again.
"Bellatrix, maybe you should give them a chance to ..."
"SHUT UP, CROUCH!" Bellatrix shrieked, "THIS IS MY MOMENT OF GLORY! DO NOT INTERRUPT ME!"
And then she hit him again. And then she hit her again.
And then him.
And her.
"CRUCIO!"
Frank stared at his wife. His beautiful wife. He loved her with all of his heart. They would die together. They would ...
Neville.
He could hear Neville crying from upstairs. There was a boy upstairs. They both realized this at the same moment. The second boy was with their son. He was going to kill him.
Frank looked to his wife for strength, and she looked to him. They spoke without words, and then deciding silently, began to fight the spell. If it drove them to the ends of insanity, they would save their son. They would save Neville.
He would not die.
"CRUCIO!"
Frank screamed as he convulsed closer and closer to the stairs. He had to get to his feet. He had to run to his son. Alice pushed him in the right direction as her arm fought her back.
"CRUCIO!"
He believed that he made it halfway up the stairs before the last bit of sanity ran out. He remembered for years to come that last moment, when he saw his wife and her blonde hair. And he saw the corridor leading up to his son's bedroom.
And he heard the cackling of Bellatrix Lestrange.
And it was at that moment.
That it all went
Black.
The scene was desolate when Remus entered. The entire house of the Longbottoms had been untouched except for a broken window in the kitchen. Most of everything had been cleared out by the time he arrived.
He expected Frank to meet him at the front door and tell him what had happened. He had come up with a scenario of Alice holding Neville, scared out of her mind but not letting on. And Frank sitting there, crossing his arms and shaking his head at what some hooligans had done to his new windowpane. But he could tell from the atmosphere inside the house, that something else had happened.
"The Dark Lord shall rise again!" an arrested witch screamed as she disappeared into a Ministry car outside in the driveway. Remus gave her an odd look as he made his way into the living room, only to find the normality of wizarding life.
A couch, a chair, a table. It wasn't anything out of the ordinary. So why were people crowded everywhere, snapping photos and collecting evidence? Where were the Longbottoms?
He heard Neville Longbottom crying from the floor above, and since that was the only noise, he decided to follow it. So he climbed up the steps, past the Aurors and Ministry officials, and into the nursery. There Neville could be seen, in the arms of Emmeline. She tried to hush him as much as she could. But to no avail, she couldn't.
"Here," Remus said, holding out his arms instinctively, "Give him to me."
Emmeline smiled sadly at Lupin, and handed him the baby. Remus closed his eyes for a moment, and tried to pretend that this bundle in his arms was Harry. But the bundle was larger. More matured. Fatter.
More spoiled.
It wasn't Harry.
"Lupin!"
Remus looked to the entrance of the nursery to come face to face with Kingsley and Moody. Moody said nothing, but Kingsley motioned for him to follow the two of them.
"Bring the kid," he said forcefully, and Remus agreed.
Outside they went, where a large white vehicle was now sitting in the driveway. Remus hadn't noticed it on the way into the house. The side of the Muggle car read "ST. MUNGO'S."
The back seat was open, and Remus could see feet protruding from behind the door, bare feet touching the pavement. The patient was still in her nightgown, and was rocking back and forth, humming to herself.
It wasn't until he grew closer to the vehicle that he recognized the St. Mungo's patient.
"Alice ..." he moaned, in awe. The strong woman was now staring off into space, lost to the world. Her hair greyed by the horrors of that night.
"This is how we found her," Kingsley explained, "We're trying to snap her out of the shock. We thought maybe you could coax her out of it. You're a lot better at this sort of stuff than the rest of us."
"Sort of stuff ..." Remus trailed off.
"You're the Bowler, dammit, just do it," Moody said gruffly, and he turned away as if it pained him to look at Alice any longer.
Neville was still crying as Remus knelt down beside the shell of a woman. As soon as the baby saw his mother, he started to yearn for her arms. Remus, still supporting the boy, handed him over to his mother's lap. But Alice did not respond.
"Alice, can't you see your son?" Remus whispered.
Alice only looked through him with those worn eyes, to oblivion.
Remus would forever be haunted by that stare.
The white halls of St. Mungo's Mental Ward blinded Remus's eyes. He now sat in the chairs, waiting for the Healers to appear from behind the white curtains where the Longbottoms lay. They must have snapped out of it by now. Both of them.
He wrung his hands together as Kingsley and Sturgis and Emmeline talked amongst themselves. He didn't feel like joining their small talk. And neither did Moody.
Alastor had been sitting still for the past hour, only keeping his eyes on that curtain. Listening for any sounds of his old friend's recovery. But none came.
He remembered the last thing he said to Frank. "Still that stupid boy."
Remus sunk down in his chair, chewing at his lip. His arms were folded in his tattered robes as he tried to shut out everything. He remembered how Sirius could shut anything out that didn't agree with him.
Sirius.
It stung.
Remus looked away, and back to the curtains. There was some whispered voices from behind the drapes. But they didn't sound like Alice or Frank. No, they were the Healers speaking of the diagnosis and the prognosis.
It was a while later that the cold hard truth hit all of them square in the face. Alice and Frank would not be waking up. There was no shock to snap out of. They were gone. Worse than dead.
The Healers showed the five of them to the two beds set next to each other. One housed Alice's dead body. And the other Frank's dead mask of a face.
They both were breathing and their hearts were beating. But their spirits were gone. Their minds were a blank.
Moody stood behind the rest of them as he continued to bore his swiveling eye through Frank's skull. He searched his brain for some sort of activity that was normal. Nothing. His partner was gone forever.
The man had died.
Remus couldn't look either of them in the eye. The haunting stare of Alice had been imprinted on his memories. And it gave him shivers as he stood there. The four younger members paid their last respects quietly, knowing that they would never see the fallen soldiers again. They had met their graves behind curtains at St. Mungo's, and they would never leave.
Remus stood in front of Frank, looking down on a man he hardly knew. All that he could remember of that Auror was the undying stance. Shoulders back. Chin out. Eyes glaring at the world, daring anything and anyone to come and kill him. He had fought next to him on the battlefield, and they had bled together. But now, Remus stood above him.
Slowly, as the man stared at his elder, Frank's body welded into another. The one of James.
And Remus couldn't stand there anymore. He couldn't face it anymore.
He couldn't take it anymore!
So much death and destruction!
He had to escape ... he had to run away ... he had to ...
"Lupin!" Kingsley shouted after him as he tore out of the Ward. Emmeline and Sturgis followed him, and the three youngest visitors disappeared from the view of the Longbottoms (if they had been watching).
Kingsley stood there for a few more minutes, and then told Moody in an icy tone that he would be heading back to the Ministry to file paperwork. Moody nodded, and Kingsley too exited the white room.
This left Alastor alone with the living dead. Moody had never cried in his life. He had never even thought of doing so. And he wouldn't have then, not even for his partner.
But he did falter. He did fail to catch his balance before losing control of his legs. But he caught himself as he fell towards the ground, and hoisted himself back to a standing position. He stood over Frank, next to his side. As always.
And Moody took Frank's hand in his. Looking into the dead gray eyes of a man long gone, he smiled. And then, he shook the limp hand. It did not shake back. It did not feel the rough skin of another human's gesture.
But he shook it anyways.
"Here's to you, Longbottom," Moody said, his voice cracking, "The best of us all."
He slowly let go of Frank's hand, and watched the pale fingers drop to hit the white sheets of his bed. And then, without looking back, Moody turned away from the husband and wife.
And he let himself out of the white door.
The trials continued on regularly the next week. They were the gossip of the country. All of the Death Eaters and supporters were brought forth, one by one (sometimes in groups) to sit before Mr. Crouch and his committee. The Order Members were represented at each and every one of them.
Some of them were memorable, like the Quidditch Player who had been found guilty. Then there were the Bulgarian Trials. And then the less important ones, as in the Malfoy's case and the Nott's case. They were let off within moments of being seated before the Wizengamot. But many went without trial. Many who had already been found guilty in the minds and hearts of society were cast out as dead souls. No one ever heard a word from them again. Their words were breathed with the same fear that once carressed the syllables of "Voldemort." And Remus never saw Sirius Black cross the aisle to be seated in front of Mr. Crouch. He never laid eyes on that man again. Nor did he want to. Remus had been asked to attend a few trials. This day, an unknown Death Eater that went by some name he hadn't recognized was seated for judgement. Frank and Moody sat close together, in the same vicinity as the others. They did not speak. Frank had given back the report of that day in Azkaban. He had no more thoughts of innocence towards Black. Just hate. Complete hate.
Remus had heard the story from three sources. Frank had come, somewhat misheveled by his findings, the night that he visited Remus's old school friend. He had relayed the story to Remus, even if Remus really hadn't wanted to hear it. And then he had heard another version from Hagrid. And yet another version from Dumbledore. But all of the versions ended the same: Sirius Black had killed James Potter.
That's all he needed to know.
That's all he cared to know.
Frank thought all of this over in his head with the same anger as Remus as they watched the Wizengamot decide on the final verdict.
"Get your mind where it belongs, boy," Moody growled, and Frank sighed. Moody hadn't spoken of Black since the Azkaban visit. And he doubted if he ever would again.
He looked past Moody to the young Lupin boy. The stature of this strong individual had changed so much. He saw the little shaking child the boy once was.
Frank remembered the first time Dumbledore had pointed Lupin out to him. Remus had only been a second year, and quite unaware that he was already being watched for potential Order material. Frank had been with Dumbledore during a quick stroll through the grounds, and he had seen at least thirty children that the Headmaster was watching. Finally, they came upon a little mousy blonde skeleton of a human being. He was much smaller than the others. Much weaker. He was different, he had known.
"Why him?" Frank asked Dumbledore. All of the other children had been limber and able and intelligent. But this boy was so different from that. He was weak.
"He possesses a heart of courage, Longbottom," Dumbledore explained, "He has seen more terror than either you or I ever will. He has fought with himself, the greatest enemy of them all. And he has conquered and lived. That is why."
Frank had been silent as he watched the boy read a Defense Against the Dark Arts book by the lake, and Dumbledore had patted him on the back.
"One who can conquer themselves can conquer anything, Longbottom," he said, "And therefore, Remus will make a very well rounded canidate for the Order."
That shaking boy had grown into a strong spirited soldier. And Frank had seen Remus in action. He had fought alongside all five of those children. And each one of them had been stronger than even he in a battle. But now he had seen the downfall of all of them. Their friendship and love had binded them together. It was the sinew that held the five hearts forever close to the others. But now they were all dead. Consumed by greed, hate, fear, and fate ... That sinew was gone. The binds had snapped. And now Frank looked upon a boy who didn't know where to turn to.
From behind Remus's head, he could see the quick shadows of a group of black clothed teenagers. They stared at him for a moment, and then continued watching the trial. They looked oddly familiar.
"Frank," Moody barked, and Frank jumped.
"Alastor, I ..."
"Stop staring at Lupin," Moody commanded, "You're making him even more nervous than he needs to be."
Frank sighed, and looked back at the authoritative figure of Mr. Crouch.
"You'd do good to get some sense in your head," Moody snorted, "You're still just a stupid boy."
Alice had stayed up with Neville every night of the trials. She hadn't been to a single one in the past week, and was tired of her motherly duties. Neville was growing to be a very large and happy tot, now past his first year of life. He was walking by himself, and very content with the world around him. Somewhat clingy to his mother, but he was in love with life and life was in love with him. The happiness on his face reminded Alice of what she had been fighting for. What her past and gone days as an Auror had taught her of life and death. One person dies so another may live. That was the way of the world.
Lily had died for Harry.
She blinked, and shook her head as she did the laundry. Neville was "helping" her. They were both seated in the master bedroom, sorting the socks from the knickers and the knickers from the shirts. It was mechanical work for the mother. Her mind wandered when she did the housework. And she found it very dangerous to wander nowadays. Usually her mind found a nook or cranny that stored Lily's or James' face. And then she would pause, blink, and shake her head to try to rid herself of those thoughts.
The last time she had seen Lily had been late in the spring. Her and Frank had left a long time before they had to go into hiding. The Potters were thriving and alive. Lily was a little scarred from her marriage, but all marriages had bumps and holes in them. Alice and Frank had had a few rough roads themselves. But overall, they had been quite happy. All of them had been so thriving. And now they were dead. Just a name on the wall behind the Auror offices at the Ministry.
"Ma!" Neville shouted, and "Ma" looked to her baby angel to see what he wanted her to see. She saw her boy with two socks on his hands, bouncing up and down where he sat. She laughed, and took the socks from him. Neville laughed, and Alice looked at the socks.
"You know," she said, "We could make puppets out of these and magic them to dance."
Neville laughed.
It sounded like Harry's laughter.
She shook her head again, and dug her hand into her night robe pocket. There was some bubble gum pieces stored away. Ever since she had gone into hiding, she had acquired a nasty habit of eating when she became nervous. After realizing that this probably wasn't very good for her figure or her health, she decided to chew something of low fat and no substance: bubble gum. She unwrapped a piece, and popped it in her mouth.
Neville grabbed for the paper that was still in her hand, and she let him have the wrapping. He sat, mystified at the bubble gum wrap for a moment. It was a daily ritual for them. An unspoken token between mother and son. Alice smiled sadly as she watched her son discover the smallest thing in the world: a paper.
Then she went back to sorting.
"Frank, are you going to come to bed anytime tonight?" she asked of her husband who was standing in Neville's nursery across the hall.
There was no answer.
"Frank, dear, are you alive in there?"
She had slipped up. She caught herself, but it was too late. The remark stung both of them, and she shook her head again. Of course he was alive. They both were alive.
"I was thinking," Frank said, coming out of the nursery and appearing in the bedroom's doorway, "Of the case."
"What case?" Alice asked, finishing the last of the laundry and taking Neville in her arms. He squealed with delight.
"The Black case," Frank said, and Alice froze. Sirius Black. Why did Frank have to always bring him up?
"What about it?" Alice asked, and Frank, eyes still focused on the rug, stroked his chin in deep thought.
"Peter was running after Sirius, right?" he said aloud. Alice nodded.
"That seems to be the story."
"Well then," Frank said, walking into the room and sitting down next to his wife and son, "Why was he in a corner?"
"What?" Alice asked, not following.
"Peter. The hole. His finger. It was backed into a corner. Sirius Black was found at the scene, facing the hole, and facing the corner. But he wasn't in the corner," Frank shifted to face his wife, and he demonstrated the movement with his hands, "Now if you were chasing after someone, and was on the offense of wanting to kill them ... as Peter was ... then how would you get backed into a corner, with the defense trapping you?"
"Sirius was always stronger than Peter," Alice said, placing the laundry basket on the floor.
"No, it still doesn't make sense," Frank said, "Sirius is walking down the street, Peter spots him. Peter runs after him. Peter should have cornered him, and then the street should have been blown to bits. Not the alleyway. Not the sewers. There is no possible way that Sirius could have trapped Peter in that space unless ..."
There was a pause as a look of realization came over Frank's face. Alice waited for more to come. When none did, she prodded her husband back into reality.
"Unless what?" she asked.
Frank's hands dropped, and he smiled defiantly, "Unless it was he who was chasing Peter. Unless ... unless Peter ... wasn't on the offense. Unless Peter was the one being pursued."
"Well, why would Sirius have pursued Peter? That makes no sense!"
"Well, why would Peter have pursued Sirius?" Frank said, jumping to his feet, "For revenge. Now does Peter seem like the revenge type, Alice?"
"Not that I have ..."
"No, he isn't," Frank said, "He's more of the cuttail and run type. But Sirius. Oh, Sirius lives for vengeance. Sirius would have dedicated his life to James' murderer. Alice, it all fits in! It all makes sense! Sirius Black is innocent, Alice! I knew it!"
"Frank, he gave a testimony himself," Alice sighed, standing up and walking out of the room to the nursery, "He said himself that he killed them."
"But everything else pieces together!" Frank protested, "Alice, you know those gut feelings I get?"
"Yes, Frank, dear."
"Well, this is one of them. I feel like ... well, Alice, I had a dream the other night. And James was here. And he was screaming Peter's name. He was screaming his name."
"It's your imagination."
"No," Frank said, "It was real. I can't explain it, but ... I have to get a hold of Dumbledore."
"You will do no such thing," Alice said, coming out of the nursery, "That poor man has already too much on his mind without a recollection of all your theories and dreams weighing in on him. Just leave him alone. The murderer has been caught. They're dead. There's nothing more we can do."
"Yes, but ..."
"No buts, Frank," Alice sighed, and shoved him back into the bedroom, "Let their souls rest in peace. Let Black get what he deserves. You have a life. You have a family. Now enjoy your life and stop worrying about theirs."
Frank sighed, and Alice brushed past him to the bed. He rubbed the back of his neck, and then looked nervously at the door, "I'll ... I'll be back in a bit. I'm just going to go down to the kitchen."
"What for?"
"To think! Is that all right? Just to think!"
He made his way down the stairs, and his bare feet touched the linoleum of the kitchen. He sighed, and rubbed his eyes. James was dead.
He never thought it would have hurt him this deep. He couldn't even look at Alice and Neville without seeing Lily and Harry. It could have easily been Neville. If Voldemort had just made one different decision, started walking in a different direction ... it could have been Neville.
He sat down at the table and buried his head in his hands. What was he going to do. What was he going to tell Neville when he got older and asked why Harry's parents were dead?
There was a quiet sound from outside. Probably the neighbor's Kneazle back for more knomes in their yard. Frank wanted to kill that stupid animal ...
"FOR THE DARK LORD!"
A fireball exploded through the kitchen window, and a few inches from his face. He jumped up, and grabbed his wand out of his pocket. His eyes scanned where the fireball had come from, and he peered into the bushes.
Then he saw them.
The children.
The four teenagers from the Wizengamot Trials.
The first was very profound in stature. He was dark haired, with white skin. Just like the boy who stood next to him. He had seen these children before. In a field. With a bride.
The bride, a gothic face bordered by wild hair and accented with even wilder eyes stood by her groom. And behind them, shivering like a lost rat was a boy he had only met once.
Bartemus Crouch, Jr.
The son of Crouch.
He had gone to the child's thirteenth birthday celebration years before, with a few of the other Order Members. The last time he had seen this prodigal son he had been dressed in a dress robe and gel tamed his now wild hair.
The four of them stood, glaring at Frank. And for the first time, Frank felt fear.
"ALICE!"
Alice awoke from her sleep and jolted out of bed. She reached for her wand on the nightstand, and ran to the door. It was Frank's voice. It was Frank screaming her name. Just like in her nightmares.
"TELL US WHERE THE DARK LORD IS!" a young girl's voice sounded from the kitchen. Two males could be heard laughing.
Alice froze, and cracked the door open enough to look outside and down the stairs. She couldn't stop herself from screaming silently. Her eyes grew wide as she stared at her husband, on the ground, writhing in pain. The veins in his face were popping from underneath the skin, and his eyes were flying out of the sockets. His teeth were clenched, and his hands were balled into fists. His skin was a complete shade of red.
"AAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLIIIIIICCCCEEEEE!" he howled.
"Get the wife," a boy told a smaller boy, "Bring her down here."
"WHAT DID THE POTTER BOY DO TO THE DARK LORD!" the girl demanded, "WHAT DID THE PROPHECY READ?"
"ALICE!" Frank screamed again.
Alice heard the footsteps of the second boy creeping up the stairs. There was nothing she could do but run. She had to save Neville. She had to get to her little boy.
She stepped out in the hallway, and pointed her wand at the child.
"Avada ..."
"CRUCIO!" The girl said from the bottom of the steps, and she felt the spell hit her in her chest, working its way through her body and into her brain. She fell to the ground, twisting and shrieking in pain.
"ALICE!" Frank shouted, not seeing Alice. Not realizing Alice was there.
"Now your wife will die as well, because of your stupidity," the first boy said, "Do you really want to see her in pain, Frank? Do you really want to see your son die?"
What was it that Remus Lupin always muttered before going into battle? What was it that he always whispered to himself? What were those words! If only Frank could think of them now! If only he could savor them and hold onto them.
"Je ne ... Je ne mourrai ..." he gasped for air, and the girl hit him again with another dose of the curse. He fell in agony again, and caught a glimpse of his wife. His wife was falling down the stairs, next to him. To fall right next to him. He was going to die beside her.
"Je ne mourrai pas," he whispered, this little bit of comfort given to him gave him strength.
"CRUCIO!" the girl said again.
"Bellatrix, maybe you should give them a chance to ..."
"SHUT UP, CROUCH!" Bellatrix shrieked, "THIS IS MY MOMENT OF GLORY! DO NOT INTERRUPT ME!"
And then she hit him again. And then she hit her again.
And then him.
And her.
"CRUCIO!"
Frank stared at his wife. His beautiful wife. He loved her with all of his heart. They would die together. They would ...
Neville.
He could hear Neville crying from upstairs. There was a boy upstairs. They both realized this at the same moment. The second boy was with their son. He was going to kill him.
Frank looked to his wife for strength, and she looked to him. They spoke without words, and then deciding silently, began to fight the spell. If it drove them to the ends of insanity, they would save their son. They would save Neville.
He would not die.
"CRUCIO!"
Frank screamed as he convulsed closer and closer to the stairs. He had to get to his feet. He had to run to his son. Alice pushed him in the right direction as her arm fought her back.
"CRUCIO!"
He believed that he made it halfway up the stairs before the last bit of sanity ran out. He remembered for years to come that last moment, when he saw his wife and her blonde hair. And he saw the corridor leading up to his son's bedroom.
And he heard the cackling of Bellatrix Lestrange.
And it was at that moment.
That it all went
Black.
The scene was desolate when Remus entered. The entire house of the Longbottoms had been untouched except for a broken window in the kitchen. Most of everything had been cleared out by the time he arrived.
He expected Frank to meet him at the front door and tell him what had happened. He had come up with a scenario of Alice holding Neville, scared out of her mind but not letting on. And Frank sitting there, crossing his arms and shaking his head at what some hooligans had done to his new windowpane. But he could tell from the atmosphere inside the house, that something else had happened.
"The Dark Lord shall rise again!" an arrested witch screamed as she disappeared into a Ministry car outside in the driveway. Remus gave her an odd look as he made his way into the living room, only to find the normality of wizarding life.
A couch, a chair, a table. It wasn't anything out of the ordinary. So why were people crowded everywhere, snapping photos and collecting evidence? Where were the Longbottoms?
He heard Neville Longbottom crying from the floor above, and since that was the only noise, he decided to follow it. So he climbed up the steps, past the Aurors and Ministry officials, and into the nursery. There Neville could be seen, in the arms of Emmeline. She tried to hush him as much as she could. But to no avail, she couldn't.
"Here," Remus said, holding out his arms instinctively, "Give him to me."
Emmeline smiled sadly at Lupin, and handed him the baby. Remus closed his eyes for a moment, and tried to pretend that this bundle in his arms was Harry. But the bundle was larger. More matured. Fatter.
More spoiled.
It wasn't Harry.
"Lupin!"
Remus looked to the entrance of the nursery to come face to face with Kingsley and Moody. Moody said nothing, but Kingsley motioned for him to follow the two of them.
"Bring the kid," he said forcefully, and Remus agreed.
Outside they went, where a large white vehicle was now sitting in the driveway. Remus hadn't noticed it on the way into the house. The side of the Muggle car read "ST. MUNGO'S."
The back seat was open, and Remus could see feet protruding from behind the door, bare feet touching the pavement. The patient was still in her nightgown, and was rocking back and forth, humming to herself.
It wasn't until he grew closer to the vehicle that he recognized the St. Mungo's patient.
"Alice ..." he moaned, in awe. The strong woman was now staring off into space, lost to the world. Her hair greyed by the horrors of that night.
"This is how we found her," Kingsley explained, "We're trying to snap her out of the shock. We thought maybe you could coax her out of it. You're a lot better at this sort of stuff than the rest of us."
"Sort of stuff ..." Remus trailed off.
"You're the Bowler, dammit, just do it," Moody said gruffly, and he turned away as if it pained him to look at Alice any longer.
Neville was still crying as Remus knelt down beside the shell of a woman. As soon as the baby saw his mother, he started to yearn for her arms. Remus, still supporting the boy, handed him over to his mother's lap. But Alice did not respond.
"Alice, can't you see your son?" Remus whispered.
Alice only looked through him with those worn eyes, to oblivion.
Remus would forever be haunted by that stare.
The white halls of St. Mungo's Mental Ward blinded Remus's eyes. He now sat in the chairs, waiting for the Healers to appear from behind the white curtains where the Longbottoms lay. They must have snapped out of it by now. Both of them.
He wrung his hands together as Kingsley and Sturgis and Emmeline talked amongst themselves. He didn't feel like joining their small talk. And neither did Moody.
Alastor had been sitting still for the past hour, only keeping his eyes on that curtain. Listening for any sounds of his old friend's recovery. But none came.
He remembered the last thing he said to Frank. "Still that stupid boy."
Remus sunk down in his chair, chewing at his lip. His arms were folded in his tattered robes as he tried to shut out everything. He remembered how Sirius could shut anything out that didn't agree with him.
Sirius.
It stung.
Remus looked away, and back to the curtains. There was some whispered voices from behind the drapes. But they didn't sound like Alice or Frank. No, they were the Healers speaking of the diagnosis and the prognosis.
It was a while later that the cold hard truth hit all of them square in the face. Alice and Frank would not be waking up. There was no shock to snap out of. They were gone. Worse than dead.
The Healers showed the five of them to the two beds set next to each other. One housed Alice's dead body. And the other Frank's dead mask of a face.
They both were breathing and their hearts were beating. But their spirits were gone. Their minds were a blank.
Moody stood behind the rest of them as he continued to bore his swiveling eye through Frank's skull. He searched his brain for some sort of activity that was normal. Nothing. His partner was gone forever.
The man had died.
Remus couldn't look either of them in the eye. The haunting stare of Alice had been imprinted on his memories. And it gave him shivers as he stood there. The four younger members paid their last respects quietly, knowing that they would never see the fallen soldiers again. They had met their graves behind curtains at St. Mungo's, and they would never leave.
Remus stood in front of Frank, looking down on a man he hardly knew. All that he could remember of that Auror was the undying stance. Shoulders back. Chin out. Eyes glaring at the world, daring anything and anyone to come and kill him. He had fought next to him on the battlefield, and they had bled together. But now, Remus stood above him.
Slowly, as the man stared at his elder, Frank's body welded into another. The one of James.
And Remus couldn't stand there anymore. He couldn't face it anymore.
He couldn't take it anymore!
So much death and destruction!
He had to escape ... he had to run away ... he had to ...
"Lupin!" Kingsley shouted after him as he tore out of the Ward. Emmeline and Sturgis followed him, and the three youngest visitors disappeared from the view of the Longbottoms (if they had been watching).
Kingsley stood there for a few more minutes, and then told Moody in an icy tone that he would be heading back to the Ministry to file paperwork. Moody nodded, and Kingsley too exited the white room.
This left Alastor alone with the living dead. Moody had never cried in his life. He had never even thought of doing so. And he wouldn't have then, not even for his partner.
But he did falter. He did fail to catch his balance before losing control of his legs. But he caught himself as he fell towards the ground, and hoisted himself back to a standing position. He stood over Frank, next to his side. As always.
And Moody took Frank's hand in his. Looking into the dead gray eyes of a man long gone, he smiled. And then, he shook the limp hand. It did not shake back. It did not feel the rough skin of another human's gesture.
But he shook it anyways.
"Here's to you, Longbottom," Moody said, his voice cracking, "The best of us all."
He slowly let go of Frank's hand, and watched the pale fingers drop to hit the white sheets of his bed. And then, without looking back, Moody turned away from the husband and wife.
And he let himself out of the white door.