The Fight Inside

I do not own these characters (except Nona, but you can have her), and I am not making any money from them. This chapter, and probably the whole story, is rated G. Thanks for reading.

As long as she stayed here, everything would be fine.

If she stayed right here, the scary things couldn't get to her.

She could look out the window and see the sun, the same sun she'd seen every day for her entire life. Whenever she got hungry, after a while they would come and bring her food. This was a good place. And it was safe. She could just stay right here in her little bed, with nothing to worry about, with safety all around, and the darkness very far away.

She remembered the darkness, but she tried not to think about it very much. She only knew that at some time, not very long ago, possibly when she was being born, there was a great darkness that covered up the whole world, and made her scared. Any time she thought about the darkness she got very scared. Then she would start to cry, and pull the soft blanket up to the side of her face, and think about other things, like bunnies and teddy bears and the smell of flowers. Until the darkness was gone again.

There were some things she didn't understand. Like why every so often the pain would come, aching pain in every part of her body like she'd just fallen down the stairs. It made her think of the dark time, and then she would cry.

She didn't think she'd always had the pain, but she wasn't really sure.

She also didn't understand why her mummy never came. Sometimes it was okay, because she would think about things or play games in her head or make up silent songs or stories, but sometimes she would wish very hard for her mummy, and she never came. Sometimes she thought mummy must have gone away and was never going to come back. Then she would cry more.

She didn't wonder why she never left her room. She knew that. It was safe here. Anywhere else the darkness might get her.

People talked to her sometimes, but she didn't really hear them very well because they were imaginary. She could tell because they weren't people she knew, they weren't the people who brought the food to her room and reminded her to wash. She figured she must have imagined them because she missed mummy, because in her imagination there was someone else in her room, someone who was sick in bed, and the woman who came was his mummy. There was sometimes a little boy with her, too, and the little boy would leave the sick person and come talk to her. She didn't understand him, so she just smiled and hoped he would stay. He was company, even if he didn't make much sense.

She wanted mummy. She was going to cry soon, she could tell, and as she started to cry she thought of something else she wanted. She had been crying out for mummy inside her head for a long time, but this was different. For a long time she had thought about this other thing, and sometimes it made her feel happy when she had started to cry. She wanted it a lot when the pain came. And somehow she knew that the people couldn't bring mummy for her, but maybe they could get her this thing. Maybe there was one about. She thought there used to be a few, in the barn perhaps, or on the porch. Maybe if she tried very hard she could even ask them, even though it was safer to stay inside her own imagination.

* * * * *

When the orderly came around that afternoon, he saw immediately that Mrs. Longbottom had been crying again. They had never been able to quiet her tears, or to understand what made her happy at some times and sad at others. But today, she looked at him with her hazy half-asleep eyes, the ones full of tears, as though she wanted to tell him something. Her thin white hand moved a little on the bed, and she licked the lips that had been dry and chapped for years. After a few labored, almost gasping breaths through her mouth he heard her whisper something.

At first he thought he'd imagined it, because Mrs. Longbottom hadn't said a word to anyone as long as he'd been at St. Mungo's, and the healers said it had been longer than that - that in fact she hadn't said a word in almost fifteen years. Plus what she'd said didn't really seem to make sense. But then she licked her lips again, and gave a little cough, and whispered once more in her dry, unused voice, "Kitten."

"Kitten?" he repeated, not sure whether to be frightened or excited. "Did you say kitten?"

Mrs. Longbottom nodded, more tears now spilling over onto her cheeks. "Kitten," she whispered a third time, more insistently, looking a bit desperate.

"You - you saw a kitten?" he asked uncertainly. No one really knew whether Mrs. Longbottom was crazy, but it was definitely looking that way. There were no cats in St. Mungo's, and none of the patients in this ward was an Animagus.

But she shook her head, and more tears flowed, and she made a gesture with her hand of petting and stroking the bed covers. "Kitten," she said again, this time almost inaudibly.

"You want a kitten?" he guessed. It was probably exciting in itself that she had responded to his question, but if she was asking for something that was definitely new.

She nodded tearfully, as though she had rather given up hope after such an effort.

"Okay," he said. "Okay. I'll - I'll ask for you, okay? I'll look for a kitten." And he ran like mad for the healer.

Later that afternoon, when older Mrs. Longbottom came to visit, she was intercepted in the hallway outside the ward by a healer. After a moment of dithering, he finally said, "Mrs. Longbottom - young Mrs. Longbottom I mean - spoke this afternoon. She spoke to the orderly and again to me."

Old Mrs. Longbottom's eyes flashed, and she asked sharply, "What did she say? Was it about -?"

"She asked for a kitten," the healer said delicately. "Actually, she just said, 'kitten,' but she nodded when we asked if that meant she wanted one."

"She wants a kitten?" the old woman repeated, looking mystified.

"Apparently." The healer glanced into the ward, where young Mrs. Longbottom was laying quietly on her bed at the end of the row.

"My daughter-in-law has spoken for the first time in fifteen years, and all she had to say was that she wanted a kitten?"

"Not so odd, really," the healer said. "Would be something for her to hold, something warm and soft and friendly. I think - I think she just wanted it very much, really, and that's why she finally asked."

"Well," Mrs. Longbottom said, with a look that clearly stated 'what are you waiting for,' "we'll get her a kitten. If she came out of her shell to ask for it, maybe it will help her." She turned around without entering the ward and called over her shoulder, "I'll be back," as she walked away.

She was back, in fact, two hours later with a large basket on her arm. She came striding up to the healer and said calmly, "I've been to Nona Riley."

"Ah," the healer said. He had no idea who that was.

Mrs. Longbottom gestured to the basket. "She said they would be less trouble when Alice is asleep if there were two, and they had each other for company. I will cast a charm to keep them confined in the area around her bed. They are small; that should be enough room for them. Your orderlies will make sure they are cared for, fed, cleaned up after, as part of their care for Alice."

The healer could do little in the face of such determined command but sputter. Of course they would look after the - kittens, presumably. If it was part of Alice's treatment.

Mrs. Longbottom's usually harsh expression softened when she saw that Alice had been crying again. No one understood why she cried occasionally, and no one understood the periodic stiffening of her limbs, and the pained look that came over her face. Mrs. Longbottom, and all the healers, had always assumed it was a remnant, a kind of phantom-pain effect from undergoing the Cruciatus Curse so many times and so intensely.

Mrs. Longbottom set the basket on the end of Alice's bed, and said firmly, "Alice. Alice, dear. I have something for you. I have your kittens here."

Alice's eyes changed in a way Mrs. Longbottom hadn't seen in fifteen years. She looked excited. Mrs. Longbottom allowed herself a sad glance over at Frank, whose facial expression had still never changed. But then she focused back on her daughter-in-law, who was actually responding to something she had said. After all, if Alice could be cured, perhaps they would know how to bring Frank back as well.

If Alice could be cured, Neville would have a mum.

Alice didn't say anything, but her eyes widened as Mrs. Longbottom lifted the lid of the basket and two pairs of little pointed ears immediately appeared. When the ears were followed by two pairs of curious eyes, and then two small inquisitive faces, Alice whispered in utter joy, "Kittens!"

"Kittens," her mother-in-law confirmed. "These are your kittens, Alice. They were a gift from Nona Riley, an old friend of yours."

The words "an old friend" made Mrs. Longbottom's throat threaten to close up. The Rileys had lived near the younger Longbottoms, and Alice had often minded little Nona. When Neville was born, Nona had held him in small, thin arms and looked with wonder on his tiny face. Nona had been eleven when Alice and Frank were hurt; she was almost ready to go to Hogwarts. Now she was a full-grown witch of twenty-six, with a house of her own on the lonely coast and her mother's talent for raising cats. She was already at an age that Alice never got to be, at least not as a normal woman.

When Nona had heard the story of Alice's request, she'd immediately picked up a grey tiger-striped kitten with a white belly that was sitting at her feet. "This is Maggie," she'd said, holding the kitten up for Mrs. Longbottom's inspection. "I found her and her brother and sister orphaned after a Muggle car killed their mother. They're the friendliest and also the quietest cats in the house. They'll sit on Alice's lap all day."

Mrs. Longbottom leaned forward to inspect the kitten, and it stretched up in Nona's grip and sniffed her, nuzzling her nose with its wet one. Mrs. Longbottom had to fight a smile. "She'll do," she said.

"You'd better have Minnie, her sister, too," Nona said. She put Maggie down and looked quickly around the room before gently pulling another grey- and-white kitten from under a table. "Here's Minnie. Maggie will be miserable without her."

Minnie had a wide-eyed, almost sad baby face, despite her constant purr. Mrs. Longbottom was reminded strongly of Alice. "You're certain?" she said to Nona. "You won't miss them?"

Nona had smiled. "I'll miss them a lot," she said. "But I have cats in and out all the time. I bring home every stray and every orphan I find. Most of them have to go to other homes eventually. I think Maggie and Minnie's brother will stay with me." She lifted a black kitten into her lap and kissed its head. "Isn't that right, Sanders? You stay with Nona, so you don't miss your sisters so much." She'd smiled up at Mrs. Longbottom, and the next thing the old woman knew she found herself Apparating back to St. Mungo's with a basketful of bouncing kittens.

Now Alice positively beamed as the two tiny kittens surveyed her over the top of the basket. The intrepid Minnie was the first to leap the side and wander up the bed to Alice's waiting arms, and Alice petted her ecstatically. Then Maggie, left alone in the basket, let out a pitiful meow and Alice leaned forward to lift her out, cuddling the kitten into her lap with Minnie and crooning to her without words. The kittens responded on cue, nuzzling Alice's face, rubbing their heads against her, twining their narrow bodies around her arms in a chorus of meowing for attention. Alice looked more alive than Mrs. Longbottom had seen her since - since.

"Alice," she said quietly. "There's a pan for them under the bed, and the basket is going right here in the corner in case they want to sleep there. Here," she handed Alice a tin of cat treats Nona had supplied, "are some treats for them. The orderlies will feed them. Do you understand?" Alice seemed to be paying no attention, but she took the treats from Mrs. Longbottom's hand and set the tin on her bedside table.

The next morning as he was eating breakfast in the Great Hall, Neville Longbottom got a letter that made him drop his bacon in surprise.

"Something wrong, Neville?" Hermione Granger asked, peering at him over the top of her Daily Prophet.

He shook his head and laid the letter down on the table. "Not - no." He glanced around, but the only other students within hearing distance were Dean and Seamus, and they weren't listening. "It's from my Gran. She said my Mum talked yesterday at the hospital."

Hermione laid her newspaper down, smiling at him. "That's great, Neville! What - what did she say?"

Neville frowned in confusion at the letter. "Gran says Mum asked for a kitten."

Now Hermione frowned. "Why? I mean, what for?"

"To be a pet, I guess," Neville said. "I don't think she wanted it for dinner, or anything."

"No, of course not," Hermione said, grimacing at the mental picture and pushing away her plate of hash. "So what else?"

"Nothing, really." Neville scanned the rest of the letter. "Gran got her two kittens and they're staying at the hospital with Mum for keeps. Mum didn't talk any more, but she really likes them, Gran says."

"That's terrific," Hermione said enthusiastically. "Maybe if the kittens make her happy, she'll start talking more."

"Maybe," Neville said. He got quiet and looked down at his plate.

"Hey," Hermione said softly, "maybe it just took her this long to get over some kind of hurdle inside her head, you know. I bet this is just the beginning."

"Maybe," Neville said again, but he was feeling better.