champagne problems.

thought i'd be a better man.

[franklcngbcttcm]

— EMMELINE

.

Life had begun to take on a sense of normalcy in the Department of International Affairs as Emmeline’s office became comfortable. Those that had been loyal to Emmeline in her previous position were brought up and those that were heard to complain about the shift in leadership found themselves being transferred to a different department. 

And Emmeline was thriving. Her assistant, a young man that was proving to be more than capable at his job, had just brought her the coffee she had requested not five minutes previously. She was meeting with one of the sub-committees that had sprung up in the transition period in the week after the election. It felt that everything was turning out perfectly.

Then the bright little assistant told her that one Frank Longbottom had stopped by. The day would become much more interesting. Emmeline strode out of her office to find Frank and knowing that the employees of the office were no doubt looking on curiously, kept her expression carefully neutral. An ever-so-slight uptick to the corners of her mouth as he bows. “Luckily for you, Mr. Longbottom, I happen to have about forty five minutes free. We can head to my office,” she told him, turning her attention over to her assistant hovering nearby. “I don’t want to be disturbed in this meeting. Handle anything that comes up.”

With that, she waved her hand for Frank to follow and proceeded back into her office. She gave her wand a flick when they were both inside, the door closing soundlessly behind them. 

“You look better than I expected.”

-

    He’s always awed at the way she commands the room. When Emmeline spoke, he wanted to listen, and though the order was not directed at him, Frank nonetheless feels his spine straighten as he follows her into her office. He clears his throat and dusts a nonexistent speck of dust off his coat. “I appreciate your time,” he says, taking a seat opposite of her desk. It’s comfortable and expensive, and he expects nothing less than the very best from her.

    Which is why he’s here today: an opportunity to benefit the both of them, to their mutual advantage. Frank knows he can trust her, and knows that they are lucky - no, blessed to have her on their side.

    His train of thought comes to a screeching halt when he hears her next words. He blinks once, twice, caught unaware and off-guard. “I...” He’s not used to others speaking so bluntly, so directly with him; Alice certainly spoke her mind, and he loved her for it, but aside from her, few ever expressed themselves so plainly to him. Unexpected, even to himself, he leans back in the chair, a smile gracing his lips. Better that they shed the pretenses of the den of snakes they’ve both made their homes out of. “Really now? That’s a relief.” Frank huffs a laugh, feeling the tension leave his shoulders. “Been feeling like complete shit, to be honest with you.”

    “But that’s not important,” he continues. “I have... a proposition for you. One that the old man before you - well, he wouldn’t have been a good fit for, to say the least. But you, Miss Vance...” He leans forward in his chair. They have the privacy of her office, but even still, he lowers his voice. “I believe if we work together on this, there’s a hell of a lot to gain for the both of us.” Frank pauses for a moment, gauging her reaction before continuing. “Before I tell you what it is, I have to be honest: it’s not exactly legal. In fact, it would be heavily frowned upon if any rumors leaked that someone in your position might have had a hand in such a thing. I won’t implicate you further by revealing any details, until I have your word that what is said here today - whether or not you agree to my offer, no hard feelings if you do not - stays in here only.”

[franklcngbcttcm]

— ALICE

It’s not until their eyes meet that alice’s walls, the strong ones she’s built over her life, begin to quiver. Her breath catches in her throat as she looks at him, properly. He looks tired. He looks… unexplainably conflicted. He looks how alice feels. Frank moved towards them and Alice wanted to let him embrace them, hold her and Neville for a moment, as if they were the family they should have been, but she couldn’t partly because it wasn’t a good idea and she knew it, but partly because she was mad. Instead, he pressed her lips together. 

Her lips part as he speaks, understanding settling on her brows. Suddenly, she feels somewhat guilty, for assuming the worst. But past experience had muddied her expectations. Her eyes widen, the cold brown softening and warming as she realises the implications of his words. “Did you find her?” she asked him quietly. Godric, that was… that was… horrible. Even if she had never particulary liked the woman, she knew that Frank had been close with her, sometimes closer than Alice had liked, not that she’d ever admit it, and not that she actually had any ownership over him, but she appreciated how awful that must have been.

“Oh bunny,” she whispered. Sympathy in her tone. Neville begins to wriggle in her arms, uncomfortable in Alice’s grip. She shifts his weight to a more comfortable position, which would qwell him for a moment. Alice rolled her shoulders back, standing a little straighter, nodding her head. “Yes, I read the reports,” she told him. “One of my clients worked on the brief…” she trails off, aware that information wasn’t necessary. She can’t help herself, he apologises and she feels the need to move towards him, curl into his arms and let him know it’s okay. That despite she was terrified he was dead, despite she hadn’t heard from him in days, being stuck in a cell in the minsitry was a pretty good excuse. But she’s heard his apologies before. She’s heard so many of them. 

Her expression darkens, and she holds Neville closer to her. That night was imprinted in her memories for reasons other than Frank’s disappearance. “I spent the night fighting off some werewolves who wanted to bite or kill myself and our son,” she uttered. “I’m not an incapable witch, I know how to fight, but I was lucky the Greengrass brother found himself beside me,” she told him. Although her home looks pristine, it hadn’t after the attack, but her protections had held and she could reverse the damage of spells, curses, and damage. Alice opens her mouth to say more but instead she refrains, closing her eyes for a second. “This isn’t a conversation for outside my house, I– you can come in if you’d like,” she offers. Neville was beginning to wriggle in her arms once more, tired of waiting to get home. 

-

    He’s always amazed, the way that Alice pulls her charm, her grace, her very aura from thin air; it’s not even magic, as so many have often attributed it to, no spellbinding and no witchcraft here. It’s simply in her very presence, and when his eyes meet hers, it’s a sudden tidal wave of calm that he knows cannot only be attributed to seeing that she and Neville - their son, their son - are alive and well. Frank has never been particularly faithful in anything; Muggles may worship a God on high, others may curse or praise the hands of fate. But the fact that she’s standing, that they all three of them are standing to see another day after all that’s happened... well, it might make an honest man of him yet.

    It might. He likes to think it will.

    (He knows that it won’t.)

    He comes to a stop in front of her, and just being in her presence is a balm and he wants more - wants to feel her heartbeat against his, wants to breathe in the scent of her hair as he’d remembered it so long ago but can still recall as if it were yesterday. He wants to show that he cares, but he doesn’t know how. Frank Longbottom wants, and that in itself is not a surprise - it’s wanting what he cannot have, knowing that it’s his own damn fault, that’s new. He swallows the lump in his throat and nods, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. “I did,” he confirms, uncertain of just how much to reveal, the circumstances of why he’d been there in the first place. Another ill-advised tryst, an itch to scratch with someone who couldn’t give a damn either way. Simplistic and base, something that twisted into a night of horror. He settles for another lie, another sin to an ever-growing list against the one person he’d sworn to himself that he’d stop lying to. “She’d left the gala early, asked me to come see her for business with the Death Eaters. Her message to me might have been the last message she’d sent before she...” It’s hard for him to say the words, and he dances around the harsh reality. “Still, it was better that I found her, and not Andromeda.” And that, he fully believes. No one should have to see that.

    At the mention of Greengrass, he stills. Frank listens to her words with rapt attention, his heartbeat rushing like the roar of a waterfall in his ears. “You’re...” He struggles to find the right word, to place how overjoyed he is to hear how she’d fought, how proud he is of her magical prowess, how ashamed he is that he wasn’t there while Greengrass was. “... incredible, Alice.” If his eyes had been glassy before, then they’re positively swimming with unshed tears now. He looks upon them both, at the way that Neville fidgets in her arms and he feels a single hot streak run its way down his face, which he wipes away with haste. Frank nods at her suggestion that they take their conversation inside, following her into her home. “How did it happen?” There’s a tightness to his voice, a note of dismay. It wasn’t supposed to happen here, he thinks. They weren’t supposed to be here. “Were you injured at all in the aftermath? St. Mungo’s has been in disarray, last I’ve heard. More sick and injured than the Mediwizards can handle...”

[franklcngbcttcm]

where: ministry of magic, outside of emmeline’s office when: one week after the election; 9:21am who: @emmvanced

    Life goes on.

    He tries to tell himself that. Repeats it in front of his mirror every morning when he rises to face another day - even if it’s bleary-eyed, hung-over, each day more pathetic than the last. I’m trying, he says, and he’s managed to convince himself of that. Even if the lump in his throat in hard to swallow, even if his stomach sinks like lead inside of him, Augusta Longbottom had raised him better than that. Make yourself worthy of the name, boy.

    And so he does. His hair is well-coiffed, an effortless look than can only be attained with the utmost care and forethought. The telltale dark signs under his eyes are masked away under the dull light of the halls of the Ministry, and he stands as straight and as tall as any well-respected dignitary. With a few smooth words and pleasant smiles, he gains access to the floor that houses the Department of International Affairs with a confident stride in his step.

    He waits in a chaise outside of her office. The sign outside the door is new, shining even underneath the dim lighting from above: Emmeline Vance, with her title decreed beneath it. Some gambles pay off after all, he sourly notes. When he sees her approach, he stands and gives a slight bow - a sign of respect, for he stands on her turf now, and he knows it. “Miss Vance,” he says as he straightens again. “I trust you’re doing well?” The smile that graces his features is a familiar trick up his sleeve, one used time and time again. He knows that Emmeline is much too clever to fall for such parlor tricks but - well, some habits died hard. Frank chooses his next words carefully, fearful of eavesdropping ears. “If I might have a moment of your time, I’d like to discuss... a business venture, if you will, that I believe can be greatly beneficial for our neighboring partners.”

[franklcngbcttcm]

— ALICE

“Frank?”

His name slipped from her lips before she even knew she’d parted them. Disbelief, but relief flooded her tone. She stood a few feet away behind him, the gate to her front garden swinging shut. Neville was in her arms, clutching the last slice of his orange in his hand. He looked at the man on the doorstep, all but a stranger to him, and yet he did recognised him. He didn’t reach out, instead wrapping a hand in Alice’s hair, but he smiled. A bag was slung over her shoulder; it mostly housed things for Neville, but also had some essentials packed away in there from a quick visit to the shops. 

She blinked, a suddenly wash of overwhelming emotion attempting to grasp her. Instead, she looked to Neville, taking in his warmth and how it strengthened her. Yet, she still spoke. “Where have you been?” she asked, a sharp note to her voice. “I thought you might be… I was told you were there when the attack occured and…” she trailed off, looking back down at Neville. He refrained her from walking wand first into situations these days. If he hadn’t been around, she’d have most probably searched for Frank herself. But that was rash and Alice was a mother now. Alice cursed in Turkish, annoyed at herself for feeling so flustered. “I thought you might be dead,” she said finally. “Do you know how that felt?” she uttered, her voice raised slightly. But she caught herself, her free hand moving up to press against her lips. 

She exhaled, closing her eyes for a moment, feeling Neville move in closer to her, sensing she needed him. “Are you okay?” she asked quietly. 

-   

    He hears her voice, and he can’t quite explain the tidal wave that rushes over him - the relief that floods his veins, the sudden skip and rapid restart of his heartbeat until it rushes through his ears. When Frank turns to see her, with Neville - their son, their beautiful and breathing and alive son - in her arms, he crosses the distance that separates them with just two long strides. He brings himself to a halt before he reaches her, remembering himself, remembering that yes, they’ve agreed to be the parents they should for their son, but Frank is... well, he’s him, and so he maintains that distance out of respect for the promise he’d made, despite every nerve in his body crying for him to embrace them both - to feel her heartbeat against his own, to hold the weight of their son in his arms as well.

   “Been held at the Ministry,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. He weighs the consequences of telling her why: that he had been the one to find Bellatrix’s body, that he had stood accused and interrogated of murder for the last three days, that the guilt inside of him threatens to overwhelm him with each passing second. He settles for honesty; Alice deserves that, and so much more. “Auror questioning after... after I reported finding Bellatrix.” He glances at Neville in her arms, still smiling, still innocent to the crumbling world around them. Frank clears his throat. “I’m sure you’ve read the reports in the Prophet about what happened to her. They had questions, and they’ve been scrambling to clean up this mess, so they kept me in holding until they remembered I was still in one of their cells.” He remembers pacing, yelling, begging for any news of Alice and Neville, only to be met with a cold shoulder and told to wait his turn, that everyone in Wizarding Britain was scrambling to find their loved ones now. She swears, and it’s not one that he knows, but he’s heard it fall from her lips before. Another regret to add to his list: to be the cause of her distress and worry. He shakes his head. “I’m sorry,” and he finds that it’s all he can say. What other words are there, to express his remorse for the worry he’s caused - for everything he’s done, his own hand in the werewolf attack? “If I had lost you too, I wouldn’t - I can’t -”

   His legs begin to tremble underneath him as the reality of what he’d done, the horrors that might have happened because of him, begin to crash down on him. Be strong, he tells himself. Be strong for them. “I’m fine now. All I could think about was you and Neville. Where... where were you when it happened? Did you see anything?” He fears her answer as much as he needs to know. Please tell me you were protected from the worst of it.

[franklcngbcttcm]

where: the doorstep of alice’s home when: three days after the full moon who: @fourtesan

    It’s ironic: he’s used to attention, thrives in the spotlight, his face and demeanor born for the stage and scrutiny - but in the days after, there’s nothing more that he wants than to crawl into a hole and stay there. Away from the prying eyes, away from the interrogated questions - and the worst of them all, away from the pity. He should be thankful, then, when he’s finally released from questioning, when the dismissal comes at long last and he’s allowed to return to the oppressive freedom of a mourning London.

    There’s a part of him - the selfish part, the boyish and petulant child in him that won’t die - that wants to hide away, to drown his sorrows in empty pleasures, but that part is silenced, quiet against the torrent of concern, of fear and worry for them, that sinks low in his stomach and cuts him like a knife.

    So here he is, three days later with hardly a wink of sleep, with another woman’s blood on the underside of his cloak and bags under his eyes, in front of Alice’s front door. He should have freshened up first; this is no way to see her. He’d promised her that he would... hide these parts of himself, the less-than-virtuous sides that he promised to them both that he’d keep away from Neville.

    But he has to know, and he cannot wait a moment longer.

    He knocks on her door - once twice thrice, in quick succession - and prays that she’ll open the door; that she - that the both of them - will be fine in the aftermath of what he’s done. His voice is a low murmur, like the skipping malfunctional rhythm of his heart, and he doesn’t realize the words that fall from his lips. “Please be alright... please be safe...”