FRANK AND ALICE

Though they were far too humble to admit it, Frank and Alice Longbottom were two of the best Aurors the Ministry had ever employed. Their magical prowess, level-headedness and refusal to kill rather than capture earned them much respect from the Order and worried even the most fearless Death Eaters; their wand-to-wand combat was rivalled only by Alastor Moody.

Presently, Frank and Alice were creeping through the floors of a crumbling stone turret by wandlight. In the past twenty-four hours, the Ministry had acquired knowledge that this was one of several locations where remaining Death Eaters were taking refuge. Voldemort may have fallen, but his followers were still at large, and it was Frank and Alice's job to find them.

'They're not up here,' Frank whispered.

'Shall we try the basement?' suggested Alice, equally quiet.

Frank nodded and led the way down a flight of stairs, where the air was as cold as the stone. Frank stared fixedly ahead as they descended, while Alice, who had keener hearing, twitched her head this way and that. They often worked together in manoeuvres like these. Their understanding of each other's movements and senses was almost telepathic, which was immensely useful when it came to covert operations and getting out of tight situations. They had escaped Voldemort himself no less than three times as a result.

As Frank descended, he hoped that this would be one of the last operations he and his wife would need to make. He wished more than anything to be at home with his son, especially after what had happened to poor James and Lily Potter this week. Frank's uncle Algie was babysitting this week, as he and Frank's mother often did when Frank and Alice were on duty. Frank's greatest regret was being unable to spend enough time with Neville; with any luck, Voldemort's downfall would atone for that.

There was no point pretending: Frank had been scared to bring a child into this world, a world that could easily have fallen into the grasp of Voldemort. Every arrest Frank had made in the last year had been for his son, to make Neville's life as happy and painless as possible.

'What d'you reckon?' asked Alice. If she had been concentrating at that moment, she might have heard the muffled footfalls on the stairs.

'Seems empty, doesn't it?' muttered Frank. If he hadn't been looking at his wife, he might have spotted the movements behind her in time. 'We'll let Crouch know and –'

Too late. The moment Frank saw them was the same moment he and his wife's wands flew out their hands. They cluttered on the stone floor while the hooded figures advanced.

'Incarcerous!'

From nowhere, ropes bound tightly around Frank's legs and torso; Alice screamed. One of the Death Eaters caught Frank before he lost balance and threw him roughly onto a chair. More ropes coiled around him, squeezing the chair against him.

'HELP! HELP!' Frank bellowed, mingling with Alice's continuing screams.

'Silence!' hissed a woman's voice, and Frank choked, feeling as though an invisible pincer had squeezed his throat.

'Now,' breathed the woman, kneeling down so that she was level with Frank's gasping face. 'This won't take too long if you play by the rules. Tell me, Longbottom: Where is the Dark Lord?'

Frank swallowed. Fear was betraying him; his mouth was dry and he had the shakes. It was four on two, and he and Alice had no means to defend themselves. He forced himself to look into the woman's eyes and recognised Bellatrix Lestrange, one of the most notorious names on the files Frank had studied at the Ministry.

'I don't know.'

'Liar,' the woman spat. Her face was young and smooth, her hair long and dark. She was beautiful, yet she was unhinged. What a dangerous thing it was to believe that someone's face was anything more than a mask. 'Rodolphus, dear, if you please.'

One of the men, thin with small, flickering eyes, smirked and pointed his wand at Frank, who experienced a rush of dread.

'Crucio!'

Grimacing, teeth clenched, Frank let out a grunt but rode out the all-consuming pain. It really, really hurt, of course it did, but he was an Auror. It'll take more than that to break me, he thought.

'That was just a little taster,' said Bellatrix. She was starting to enjoy herself. 'Don't make us go any further. We have good reason to believe the Dark Lord targeted you after he killed off those pathetic Potters. We know you can tell us. We've got all night down here, and there's no one to hear you scream, so I'll ask again: Where is the Dark Lord?'

'I don't know,' said Frank, louder this time.

As Bellatrix sighed theatrically, her husband struck again.

'Crucio!'

This time, the pain was unlike any Frank had been put through before and his shouts echoed forever against the stone walls. His very brain was on fire.

'He's dead!' he bellowed. 'Voldemort's dead, you fools! You know he is!'

'How dare you speak his name?' screeched Bellatrix, her eyes wide with rage, and struck Frank with a Cruciatus curse of her own. 'He is not dead! Tell me where he is!'

The pain was too much for Frank's mind to even perceive. He sobbed and screamed until his breath ran out. His sanity had ruptured. He couldn't even muster the thought of dying, or even that dying was better than this utter, utter hell.

Once Frank had slumped in his chair, twitching, his eyes rolling, Bellatrix took a moment to compose herself before turning her attention to Alice.

'You're being very quiet, my dear,' said Bellatrix in a sickeningly sweet voice. 'Perhaps you know more than your husband.'

'No …' whispered Alice, who was openly sobbing.

Bellatrix ignored her.

'Now – where is the Dark Lord?'

'I don't know! Please, we don't know, please – NO – AHHHH!'

Alice's screams pierced what was left of Frank's consciousness, and that noise was even worse than his own pain.

Frank did not know how long it went on for. The torture had reached a level so high that it transcended time: they might have been there for hours, and hours, and hours, and there was no end in sight.

Unbeknownst to any of them, another figure had appeared in the basement. In a flash the man had Disarmed Bellatrix, before firing a curse at Rodolphus, who flew backwards and crumpled against the stone wall. The flash of the spell temporarily illuminated the man's heavily-scarred face, beady eyes and mutilated nose.

Upon seeing the state of the victims in the chairs, fury like no other coursed through Alastor Moody. Frank and Alice, two of his closest friends, were lolling in their chairs, staring blindly. Worst of all, they had been kept alive.

With an animalistic roar, Moody unleased a sequence of curses that splintered the air and sent all four Death Eaters flying. Bellatrix crashed against the floor, stirring feebly. When the scrawniest of them, a young boy with straw-coloured hair, rose and scrambled towards him, Moody merely swung a punch his way, knocking him cold.

'ARRGHH!'

Moody felt a burning pain in his thigh and collapsed; Rabastan, the only Death Eater who had retained his wand, had sent a curse that struck Moody's leg, completely removing it. From the ground, Moody slashed at the air and a deep gash appeared on the brute's face. Before he could react, Moody had Summoned all four together and bound them back to back in ropes until he heard a rib crack.

Wheezing, Moody looked down at the stump where his leg had been. Blood was gushing onto the stone and he was overcome with a wave of light-headedness. He conjured a stream of bandages until the flow was stemmed, then fashioned a wooden claw from thin air, which attached itself seamlessly to the end of his thigh.

In the silence, Alice looked to her left, tear tracks shining on her kind face. Her eyes found those of the husband she barely recognised.

'F … Fr …' she muttered, frowning. She stretched out a hand, and touched his fingers. Even now, she wasn't completely sure who he was. All she knew was that she loved him.