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There are moments in this condition where for some unknown reason, everything comes back. Who they were, what they did, where they last stood…they remember it all. They remember it so clearly that for just a moment, they’re not here anymore. They’re lost in a world they once knew; they’re lost in a world they’re no longer a part of. But for that moment, they’re in control and they’re themselves again.
You don’t know. Well, at least, you think you don’t? You didn’t? But you do now?
Wait….wait…wait.
What do you know? Anything? You know you’re you. That much you know. You’ve got that.
Next question. Where are you?
Eyes shooting around, you can’t find an answer to that question. You honestly don’t know. It doesn’t seem like home…the walls are too white. They’re mostly bare too, the only colours coming from faded photographs on a bulletin board above the bed. The made bed. The one with neatly squared corners.
That’s something that you haven’t seen since you moved out of your mother’s house. The only time you’d put the effort in for that is if you knew she was coming to visit. And that surely wasn’t the case today. It couldn’t be. This wasn’t even your house. It smelled way too clean to be your house.
Wait.
Mother.
Why did that mean something to you. You were married and now 28, living in a beautiful house in a tucked away little village just outside of London. It was a safe area, one that you and your husband spent quite a few months looking for. You wanted some place where you could live at peace with your little boy. He was so young, and your job was just so dangerous—so was your husband’s, for that matter. And that danger could be blocked at home. It could be kept out of your house and away from your little boy.
Danger.
You were out. That makes sense. You were at work. Your mother was with the baby, or maybe your husbands? Either way, he was safe.
Safe. You weren’t.
Suddenly it hit you. This was a dangerous area. The mission had been for you to go out and secure the area. Typically husband and wife didn’t work together, but you were just breaching dark times. Lord Voldemort was gone. Or missing? Missing sounded more accurate. And all you wanted to do was clear this house, as it may have been used as a safe house for the Death Eaters. Likely was, sources said.
On your feet, you find you’re breathing has picked up. Where was your husband? You weren’t supposed to let him out of your sight. He was supposed to have your back, as you had his or something bad would happen.
Swinging around, you find nothing but a man staring blankly out the window. He looks hauntingly familiar and your insides churn uncomfortably.
This couldn’t be a good sign. Why did he look familiar? Why wasn’t he looking at you? Was he a threat? Was he hiding your husband?
The door opens behind you and instantly your knees hit the ground. Your body burns as red flashes behind your eyes. You can’t adequately take a deep breath as your chest seizes in pain. Where the hell was Bellatrix? Barty Crouch Jr?
There were others, those who hadn’t taken off their masks, but their laughter and dark words echo through your head.
Where is he? Don’t tell me you don’t know! We know you do! We’ll hit him again if you don’t want to tell us!
The words weren’t only directed at you anymore, but at your husband, at poor sweet Frank, who wanted nothing more than to protect you.
Tell us! We will kill her if you don’t tell us!
The pleas, the warning that you and him don’t know…you don’t have any more insight than they do. And they don’t like that…and it hurts.
Of course, it doesn’t take long before reality sets in. They look around and realize that it’s not 1981 anymore and they’re not in their house preparing for dinner guests or tucking their son into bed. Instead, they’re in some unrecognizable place with people who look like someone they used to know and love, except much older.
“Alice? Alice dear, are you alright?”
You hear the voice, so different from the shrill one shouting in your head. This voice is lower…more strict and moderated but a lot softer…soothing almost…recognizable?
The pain you felt in your body is suddenly gone. You don’t know when it left, but you know this is not the same place it occurred. The floor is a lot warmer here—tile rather than the cool cement of the basement you last remembered being on. You feel almost numb, too, like your brain is looking at things through a fog…everything just a little too far away.
A hand touch to your shoulder and the voice is back in your mind. You look up, lifting your face away from the clean cream tiles you’re currently curled upon. Eyes find warm brown ones returning the stare, guarded in caution as if afraid there was a threat.
It’s a look you recognize…a face you recognize…maybe one that’s a little bit older, actually, but you know the face.
Augusta.
She was with your boy. The last night you remember, you had kissed his head on your way out the door, letting Augusta know to send a patronus if he needed you or if she couldn’t get him to sleep. You were worried about leaving, it being one of the most dangerous missions you’d set out on since giving birth to him. You were leaving him with her.
Where was he?
Your eyes shoot around the room, but Augusta blocks much of your view. She has a soft smile on her face, though concern laces bethind her eyes and in her next words.
“Alright, Alice dear, up we go. We’ll just come sit in this chair for a minute, okay?” Augusta says, indicating the chair settled just a couple of feet away from you.
You find you can’t nod, or really make any noise to indicate your approval, though Augusta must be able to read it. She slips an arm under yours before slowly helping you get to your feet again. She keeps her hand hovering over your back as she points towards the chair, slowly urging your forwards.
You look up at her face, finding with the light at her from this angle, she does look quite a bit older than you remember. You’re not quite sure why she looks older—or really when you last saw her—but no matter the case, you can feel the anxiety twisting in your insides. You still didn’t know where your boys were.
Augusta signals for you to sit down and you don’t fight her. For some reason, despite your rising anxiety, you feel safe with her. You know her and you know she must have some answers for you somewhere.
“I think she’s alright, thank you.”
You look up to see Augusta project her assurance towards the door. Tilting your head, you lean forward just in time to see a witch and wizard in pale sky blue robes exit the room. The faint realization that the pair were healers crosses your mind just briefly before you’re completely distracted by a tall blonde girl, whose hair was elegantly pulled up and braided upon her head. She had a number of flowers that seemed to blossom out of the braids and is standing almost timidly beside the door.
She has a flowing yellow dress on and you can’t help but be in awe of how beautiful she looks, shifting her weight nervously as her hands move to close around the strap of the rather large blue bag she has over her shoulder. You can tell she’s really nervous and you send a glance around the room, finding nothing but a smartly dressed man staring absentmindedly out the window.
It’s as you look back at her, and she shifts ever so slightly behind another man you had failed to see was in the room until now, that you find her nervousness is directed at you. Confusion takes but a brief moment to sweep through your mind—you have no reason to make anyone nervous, you meant them no harm, despite not recognizing her face—but your attention is quickly drawn to the man her hand rests on the shoulder of.
His face is something you recognize in a heartbeat. Brown hair, hazel eyes, front two teeth sticking out just little farther than the rest…the only thing that seems misplaced is the faint scar half hidden under the hair swept across his forehead, but you know him.
Frank.
A smile comes across your lips as you shift in the chair, turning your body towards him. He smiles back timidly, awkwardly shifting his arms, to which you find a baby safely curled up there. Your heart clenches. Neville.
The little baby is safely tucked within a blanket, blue hat covering his brown hair, pacifier between two plump little lips. He occasionally sucks the pacifier, but is otherwise content and sleeping in his father’s arms.
You’re mesmerized by the view, just taking them in as Augusta waves Frank forwards, towards you. You just watch the baby in his arms, undisturbed by the movement as Frank comes to rest right beside your chair and Augusta.
You reach out, eyes shifting up to Frank and Augusta’s for just a moment.
“She’ll do okay,” Augusta nods encouraging before Frank carefully shift the baby in his arms.
You feel the anticipation of holding your baby, of having the weight in your arms grow, so much so that you barely register how the blonde woman—who you’ve briefly forgotten about—makes a move as if to stop the transfer of the small boy. The woman stops herself just as Frank gets the baby into your arms and holds out an arm to stop her.
You pay them no greater notice as you look down at the little baby now cradled against your chest. He’s briefly disturbed by the transfer of hands, but settles as soon as he finds this place to be just as warm as the last. The smile stretches across your face instantly as you look down at the baby.
“Frank…Frank, dear, why don’t you come have a look at the baby too?” Augusta says, drawing your eyes up from the baby cradled in your arms.
What does she mean come have a look? Frank has surely seen your baby—he was part of the reason he was here.
Looking up, the uneasiness returns to your stomach. Augusta is talking to the man at the window. She’s moved over to him and is reaching out a hand for him to take.
Your stomach almost drops as the man looks up before accepting her hand. His face…it looks so much like…but that can’t be…can it?
Eyes shifting over, you look now to Frank…or who you thought was Frank. It’s then that you notice how the man in front of you has a much rounder face. He’s not quite as tall as Frank, and looks nowhere near as old as the man Augusta is leading towards you.
“Neville?”
And that reality? It will scare them. They will want to shut down. And if not, they’ll go into a panic. They’ll want to know where they are, what happened to them, why they ended up here. They may even get violent, wondering what happened to the life they once knew. And the biggest thing at this point is to hold their hand as you tell them who you are, that you love them, and that they’re safe because they may not be lucid long enough for you to answer all their questions; in fact, you’ll be lucky if they’re lucid long enough to hear you say ‘I love you,’ before they succumb to the condition again.
The whole rooms falls silent in a moment, eyes moving to look at you. You want to look around, to ask why everyone is staring at you, but you can’t. Your eyes can’t leave the hazel ones of your son…your Neville.
“Mum?”
His voice is shaking and raspy, barely able to be heard over the noise of the unit, but you can hear him clearly.
After moments of silence stretch on, you manage to nod your head, just slightly. You catch a gasp from beyond the pair of you, and know it’s Augusta, or maybe the blonde—who you realize must be Neville’s girlfriend or…wife?
You look down at the baby in your arms, instantly recognizing how very different he is from what your Neville looked like when he was this small. His face is a lot more narrow, jaw not protruding quite as much. He’s really precious, really adorable, and you can’t help the pride from swelling in your chest, heating your entire body.
You look up then, reaching out your right hand, which is not supporting the baby. You reach toward your own baby’s face, finding your hand shaking as his face crumples. He falls to his knees before you, and you get a hand on the back of his head, pulling him to your shoulder.
The avalanche of emotions cover you, heartache causing a tear to slip down your face as you realize, for reasons unknown to you, time has passed…time you haven’t been aware of has passed. Things have changed and your boy, your Neville…he’s grown up.
As Neville pulls away and looks up at you, you feel a moment of peace. You’ve got your boy, who has his own boy, his own life…he’s grown up and he’s wonderful.
A shuttering breath and your hand drops away from your boys face and back to your lap. Your fingers catch on the edge of your shirt and you realize just how soft the dark blue fabric is. You look down at your hand, tilting your head a little as your fingers rub in small circles against the fabric.
“Mum?”
You hear the voice and it draws your eyes away from the material in your fingers. You look around, wondering where the voice is coming from. You see a couple people standing around you—two men and two women. You don’t know why three of them are staring at you and you look down to find a baby in your arms. You tilt you head, appraising it for just a couple of seconds before pulling the small body slightly away from yours.
“Alice, dear?” Augusta says, tears streaming down her face.
You look up at her, recognizing the name as something they use for you frequently, but finding really, all you want is to walk around. You again pull the small body away from yours, offering it to anyone who will take it.
Only a moment passes before a blonde girl in a beautiful yellow flowing dress reaches out and scoops the baby from your hands. You get up then, causing everyone to falter back a couple of steps before you slip a gum wrapper from your pocket. You rub it between two fingers, taking in the feel of the plastic-like parchment before holding it out to the younger of the two men before you.
He reaches out his hand, tears streaming down his face, as you drop the wrapper in it before turning and walking towards the window.