II
For an Auror like her, slipping out of a public hospital during what seemed to be a festive season without a wand was simple.
Wrapping herself up in a smelly cloak and some old boots she found in the Lost and Found, Alice trudged through the dark and empty streets of London, until she was at the doors to the Leaky Cauldron. It was open even tonight, and Alice passed tables of lonely hooded wizards, banshees and vampires staring into their drinks while listening to Celestina Warbeck (people still liked her?), before she came outside and saw a familiar stone wall.
X
It was during the war when Alice had first entered the fast tracked Auror program, where classes were held in the Ministry. From the moment she caught her mentor's eye, he knew that Alice was here more out of circumstance than inclination.
Alice, who was not clever enough to noticed by teachers, but hardworking enough to do well, had come out with the fifth highest marks from her Hogwarts NEWT batch; and was one of the only few students from her year that had chosen to enter the Auror program during a war.
Quiet and unassuming, Alice stood where she could not be noticed or seen in those classes, silently studying and practising, but still absorbing everything. Despite being a small class, the rowdy former Gryffindors seemed to take much of her teacher's attention (and patience).
Alastor Moody, or Mad Eye, as he was known by his students, limped around in practical classes, coming up from behind unsuspecting students as they duelled one another and disarming them.
"What would you do if your wand was out of your hand and you were on the ground, girl?" he growled at Alice as she lay on the floor, still reeling. Despite serving him strawberry cheesecake flavoured gelato over the counter at her uncle's ice-cream parlour every Sunday afternoon, Moody struggled to remember her name.
X
She had never been very good at wandless magic, and was still too weak to do it well, but Alice managed to enter Diagon Alley after three attempts, by pressing her index finger over the stones in a comfortably familiar pattern.
The cobbled street was empty that night too, but there were fairy lights and tinsel at closed shopfronts. Alice passed them until she finally came to the one she was looking for, and banged the glass window of the door a few times.
"Hide me," she whispered to her uncle, who opened the door. He looked surprised, elated, sad and so old all at once; and Alice did not want to look at that expression for a moment longer. He stepped aside and she walked in.
X
Alice's father, young Mr Fortescue*, was an outspoken and fiery member of the Wizengamot who opposed reforms and legislation which were biased towards pure blood bigotry with much aplomb. As they were living during dark times, his house was set alight by masked men who cast the Dark Mark above their heads and into the sky.
It was a terrible fire, and meant to be a tragedy and a warning, in which a young family had burnt to their deaths because of a foolish wizard's dangerous views. Instead Alice, who was nine, had managed to drag herself and her mother out of the flames, and so she had defied the Dark Lord for the first time.
X
Uncle Florean was quiet where his brother was loud, wary where his brother was daring, and had found purpose serving ice cream to the crowds every afternoon, rather than the purpose sought out by those clad in dark work robes.
Her uncle was jolly and smiled to all of those whom he passed a double scoop cone with sprinkles on top: but Alice knew that behind the smile, was both pain and a long desiring hope to one day avenge his brother's death.
The smile was there again as her uncle took in the sight of her after all these years, but he could not disguise his grief now. Tears spilled from both of their eyes and Alice found her face burrowed into the crook of his shoulder.
She cried because she still remembered the pain that racked her body as their wands were pointed at her. She cried for her father who burnt to his death; and for her husband, who had been tortured to the brink of death. She cried for her own mother, who died without her daughter to nurse her. And she cried the years she lost, and for her baby boy, who was all alone in a bewildering new world.
*JKR's initial notes regarding Alice's maiden name stated that Alice Longbottom was a Prewett. However, this never became canon and she is only known as Alice Longbottom in the books. Also, if Alice was a Prewett, she would have been related to Molly Weasley - and if so, I think that Molly, being nurturing and motherly, would have been actively involved in Neville's life and looked after him if she and Alice Longbottom had been related. So, for the purposes of the story, Alice is a Fortescue. I got the idea from Florean's kidnapping. Although JKR later stated he was kidnapped and killed by Voldemort for information regarding ancient magic, I also liked the idea of the Fortescue family being enemies of Voldemort.
**I changed the name of this story, in case anyone was confused