Disclaimer: The Honourable J.K. Rowling owns the delightful magical realm of Harry Potter. I am just using—and abusing—her creation below. Please read, review, and enjoy. Se gap lai nhe.

Chapter VIII

The Consequences of Tardiness,

Or

The Potential Joys of Being Late

The month following the brutal murders of Gideon and Fabian Prewitt were undoubtedly amongst the most difficult that Alice Longbottom ever knew. True, it had an effect on Frank and his compatriots, but not to the same extent. Whilst Alice grieved over the loss of her elder brothers, Frank sought to protect his wife from meeting their gruesome fate. However, Amos Diggory was perhaps the most vexed of all. While he was only a casual acquaintance of the pair, he feared a breakdown in the clique's intelligence division. "How was it," Amos mused, "that neither Barty nor Regulus had heard tale of the plot? Had they been corrupted, either willingly or forcibly by the imperious curse?" "No," Amos reasoned. While both of them were proud purebloods, they would never have betrayed Alice's brothers to a horrific end.

Mundungus, while saddened by Alice's loss, was not nearly as concerned.

"This 'ere conflict is a war. It's no different than cookin' your grub," Dung said seriously one day to Amos. "Ask any cook an' 'e'll tell you that ye can't make an omlet without breakin' a few eggs."

"Still," Amos mused, "I'd like to make it thru this with as few "broken eggs" as possible. As it is, if they can take down the Prewitts, both of whom were big, strong, and powerfully magical, then who is to stop the Earl of Voldemortshire from killing my wife and baby Ced?"

A little over a month after the death of her kindred, Alice was to be found weeping hysterically in the loo. Why, not even she entirely knew. One day, she felt as if she were coming to terms with the deaths of her brothers. The next, she was in hysterics. To make matters worse, she had become rather ill and achy. In her gloom, she had evidently contracted the flu or some other virus. "Why, oh why couldn't I have taken care of myself? They're dead, and dwelling on them every single day until I make myself seriously ill and keel over myself won't bring them back."

Frank was concerned, of course, but he was not at home all that much. He had stuck at home with her for comfort and support until the funeral, but he could not stay at home when the world seemed to be crumbling around them. The other Death Eaters, who had been retreating over the past few months had become emboldened by Dolohov's vile acts and had restarted their campaign of terror.

There could be no denying that the situation was grim. On the Tuesday before, Frank, Dung and the gang had tea with Benjy Fenwick, an auror from the Ministry. The next day when they dropped in for a meeting, they found a bloodstained heap of body parts on his favorite chair. On the wall above the chair, the phrase "Hey, hey! Fenrir was Here" was written in a thick, maroon paste that looked nastily like blood.

Frank woke up early one morning to find his wife's place in bed empty. Furthermore, in place of the silence that had been present earlier, a horrible squelching sound was to be heard. Getting out of bed, Frank followed the noises until he reached the loo where he found Alice bent over the toilet gagging.

"Blimey, you've been ill like this for quite some period of time. Alice, tomorrow I want you to go to St. Mungo's. I don't want to see you suffer unnecessarily, and you've suffered quite enough."

"No, really. I'm fine. Just I get oddly queasy at times. Don't know why, but—", Alice broke off suddenly as a steady stream of vomit made its way into the world.

"Alice, whether you think it's serious or not, just do this for me. Please, it would ease my mind."

"Why is it always about easing YOUR mind. Why is it never what I think is best! Don't you think I can make decisions for myself!" Alice shouted suddenly, and needlessly after she had recovered herself.

Frank looked rather hurt and made for the door, when Alice suddenly said, "Frank, I don't know what came over me, but I was wrong to shout. I'll set up an appointment tomorrow. Don't worry. You have enough to worry about without me adding to it. The healer'll just say I have influenza; I have been rundown ever since—well, you know."

"Yeah, I know. Just do that for me."

The next day was, predictably, another grueling and unpleasant one. Frank was sent to hunt for Fenrir Greyback, who slew Benjy Fenwick, and kill him if possible. Dung was sent after a Soviet wizard who the Ministry feared was scouting out for a potential invasion of Soviet Dark Warlocks, a fellow name Igor Karkaroff. While Dung had no luck in finding the elusive Soviet agent, Frank very easily came across the lair of Fenrir Greyback. Finding him wasn't an issue. Escaping a horde of angry werewolves—now that was another story altogether. Frank fired killing curses at the werewolves, and sometimes his aim was true. However, Fenrir was still free with the bulk of his empire intact.

Bad news plagued him when he returned to the Ministry for a briefing with Amos and his compatriots.

"Frank, I have some bad news," started Amos Diggory.

"Yeppers. What is it?"

"Well, do you remember the day you captured Tim Travers for the murder of the McKinnons?"

"Aye," replied Frank, now thoroughly bewildered.

"Well, Headmaster Dumbledore wants an inquiry to be raised against you. He claims you used unnecessary force to bring him in. In all fairness, I suppose he was in rough shape after you caught him. I'm going to have to suspend you, m'lad until the investigations over."

"Dag nab it," Frank swore. "I got there too late to save them, but at least I caught the filth that did it. I did what I had to do."

"Frank, calm down. I know you did what was necessary, but…"

"I'm going home. I've had a long day."

When Frank arrived home, he found Alice in the kitchen preparing dinner. When she noticed he was home, she embraced him.

"So, what did they say at St. Mungos?"

"I didn't go. I didn't need to."

"Why not?"

"Because I realized what was wrong, and I found that nothing is wrong in a matter of speaking."

"Alice you're really confusing me here. What're you talking about?"

"Frank, I'm late."